


Lessons and Obsessions

by LennaNightrunner



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, F/M, HP: EWE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-15
Updated: 2009-09-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 30
Words: 103,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LennaNightrunner/pseuds/LennaNightrunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Narcissa Malfoy makes a deal with the Order of the Phoenix for protection and for a probational dismissal of charges regarding her son's role in the death of Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts for a seventh year. Disgraced, reckless, and resentful, Draco decides to pursue a long-time desire for Hermione Granger. What begins as a loveless series of trysts wherein Hermione tries to ease the pain of Ron's apparent indifference soon becomes inevitably complicated. With Harry off searching for Horcruxes and Ron still lacking the courage to pursue her, Hermione finds herself becoming increasingly and inexplicably attached to a boy she believes can never love anyone, least of all her. She believes this so firmly, in fact, that the significance of the subtle changes in Draco's behavior may not become evident to her before their secret relationship is discovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written over the course of fifteen long and introspective months in 2008 and 2009. I could not have made it through the first few chapters, let alone have seen it through to its end, without the help and support of my beta (Twist Shimmy) and of the HP fanfiction community. The encouragement from the HP LiveJournal family and from reviewers kept me motivated to post chapter after chapter until the fic was complete. To all of you who made this possible, thank you. Also, many, many thanks to draconis23 for the beautiful banner!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> * * *

Draco Malfoy was not sure exactly when it had happened, or how, but it was becoming more and more apparent to himself that he was obsessed with Hermione Granger.

The attraction, or whatever it could be called, had crept into his consciousness so insidiously that by the time he had realized it existed, he felt that it had always been there. This was ridiculous, of course, because he distinctly remembered loathing the mudblood with a fiery passion and enjoying hours of pleasure from tormenting her. Somehow, it seemed, this passion had altered its nature, but it was nevertheless just as fierce.

Draco was aware that the obsession had existed for some time, but the trauma of his father’s arrest and his own sudden immersion in the Dark Arts as the youngest living Death Eater had overpowered it for quite a while. He had almost forgotten about it entirely, and probably would have if he had not been asked to return to Hogwarts to complete his education. He’d had no plans to do so, but after he had escaped the Death Eaters, the Order of the Phoenix had taken him and his mother under their protection, and they had required him to return to school, where it was concluded he would be in no more danger than anywhere else.

Now that he was back, the obsession had returned to Draco with a vengeance. Potter had apparently not allowed Granger to immediately join him on whatever mad quest he’d left school for. Draco did not know the details apart from the fact that its goal would be to defeat the Dark Lord, but he cared little as long as the muggle-born was close at hand. However, he needed to act soon. That youngest Weasley boy had also returned to school, and though Draco doubted if the Weasel would ever have the stones to make a move, he wasn’t going to give any other man the chance to move in on Granger.

At the beginning of his seventh year, Draco made his first conscious decision to pursue the Granger girl. He had no reputation left or anything else to lose by it, and he might stand to gain quite a lot. Even if he failed to win her, it would at least be an entertaining project to keep him busy during his last year, as lessons seemed pointless while only a group of muggle-lovers and half-breeds stood between him and the wrath of Lord Voldemort.

Not that he doubted his chances of success. He had a feeling that Granger would not be satisfied with someone as boring and mild-mannered as Ronald Weasley. She seemed to have a secret attraction towards “bad boys,” if Viktor Krum was any indication, and Draco would make Krum look like a pygmy puff by comparison.

*****

Hermione Granger was having a fairly good school year so far, in spite of everything that had happened. It had been very hard, at first, coming back to a Hogwarts with no Dumbledore and no Harry. She was still very anxious about Harry’s decision to go off alone, and couldn’t quite figure out how he had managed to convince her to stay behind with Ron. Still, she had resigned herself to finishing out her seventh year, and she was pleased about the prospect of completing her education in spite of everything.

To no one’s surprise, Hermione had been named Head Girl (opposite a boy from Ravenclaw), and her office meant that she was given a room to herself in Gryffindor Tower. Each House had two single rooms that magically appeared in the event that they needed to house the Head Girl and/or Boy. While she was put out by the fact that this was mentioned nowhere in _Hogwarts: a History_ , Hermione had to admit that it was a perk. She could get so much more studying done without interruption!

Harry was faithfully keeping in touch with her and Ron by owl, and promised to send for them when he had definitive information about the horcruxes and how to defeat Voldemort. Hermione was anxious that Harry would try to go after Voldemort on his own, but she had to trust that he would keep his word and not do anything stupid. She has threateningly promised him that if she did not receive regular letters, she would go after him herself.

It was only a few weeks into the term, but Hermione was already getting excellent marks as usual. She and Ron weren’t as awkward together as she had feared they might be in Harry’s absence, and having Ginny around was a comfort, especially since she was just as worried about Harry as Ron and Hermione were. Hermione had to admit that even though things were different and strange, they weren’t all that bad. The sensible thing to do was keep living her life as normally as she could, and be prepared to help Harry at a moment’s notice.

*****

Hermione had just managed to finish up her homework in the library before curfew, and quickly put her books away so that she could leave in time to get back to Gryffindor Tower without getting into trouble. It would be poor form for the Head Girl to be caught out of bed after hours. As she hurried along the corridors, she became aware of the presence of footsteps keeping time with hers coming from behind her. When she paused, they paused, when she sped up, so did they, and so on. Her heartbeat quickened with mild anxiety as she glanced behind her, but she could see nothing in the dark halls. She had no particular reason to feel threatened, but she did know now that Hogwarts was not impenetrable, and that any enemy of Harry’s might have cause to come after her.

Her mind rapidly reviewed defensive spells as she drew her wand from her pocket into her hand as smoothly as she could. After a few more steps, she abruptly broke into a run, trying to lose her pursuer. When she came to an intersection between two hallways, she ran down the one that lead to Gryffindor Tower and then abruptly slid behind a suit of armor and hid in the shadows. To her relief, the footsteps ran past her without stopping and faded slowly into silence. She listened carefully for any sign of movement and slowly loosened her grip on her wand.

Taking deep, slow breaths to calm herself down, Hermione waited in the shadows for a few more moments before deciding it was safe to continue to the Tower. However, as she leaned her face out from behind the suit of armor to check if the corridor was empty, two hands came out of the darkness and grabbed her arms, pulling them together and pinning them over her head. Hermione tried to scream, but her captor’s left hand covered her mouth while his right one—for she knew by his size and strength that it must be a man—held both her hands together against the cold stones of the wall.

Hermione struggled, but the man held her fast, so that her resistance was pointless. Bidden by a sort of morbid curiosity, or perhaps simply to banish her fear of the unknown, Hermione looked up into the man’s face. For a moment she did not recognize him, for his fringe was in his eyes, but as his lips twisted up into a smirk, her eyes widened with horrified recognition, and conveyed the one shocked word she could not speak: _Malfoy?!_

Malfoy interpreted her look of shock correctly, and his smirk widened into a mischievous grin. He did not remove his hand from her mouth or let go of her arms except to slide her wand out of her hand and transfer it to his. Oh God, it couldn’t be him. Why did it have to be him? He should be in Azkaban or at the very least serving Voldemort but _never_ back at Hogwarts. He was the person who had betrayed this place to the Death Eaters and he had been allowed to come back? It defied reason.

“Yes, it’s me, Granger,” Malfoy said with his characteristic drawl. “Surprised to see me?”

Hermione recovered and glared up at Malfoy, renewing her efforts to get free. She tried to bite his hand, but he somehow kept it out of reach of her teeth without removing it. With her arms pinned, she couldn’t attempt to get her wand back from him. As she continued to struggle, panic welled back up inside her. It could have been anyone else and she would not have been afraid. Any Death Eater. Maybe even Voldemort himself. She would have been brave. But for some reason she was terrified of Draco Malfoy, and all she could do was try to hide it.

“Shh,” Malfoy cooed mockingly. “Struggling will obviously do no good. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Hermione gave Malfoy a look of deep distrust and glared as fiercely as she could. If she could focus on how much she hated him, maybe he wouldn’t notice the fact that she was trembling. Malfoy only chuckled.

“I can see your trust is not going to be easy to win,” he sighed, blowing his fringe out of his face. Then he shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh well. I don’t need you to trust me. At least not right now.”

Hermione stopped struggling momentarily, unable to stifle her curiosity. What was he playing at? She waited for him to continue, the back of her mind still frantically trying to work out how to get her wand back.

“I’ve decided something, Granger, and regardless of what recent events might indicate, when I really have my mind fixed on something, I don’t stop until I get what I want.” Malfoy casually removed his hand from Hermione’s mouth to pound his fist on the wall, emphasizing his determination.

It did not even occur to Hermione to scream when Malfoy moved his hand away. Instead, she looked up at him warily and asked, “And what have I got to do with your awful obsessions, Malfoy? If you’re going to try to bully me into helping you, I—”

Malfoy did not even have to put his hand back on her mouth; he simply made a silencing gesture with his free hand and gave her a warning look before his lips eased back into a smirk. What was wrong with her? Why wasn’t she screaming for help? Even if she couldn’t get to her wand, she could at least do that.

“You’ve got everything to do with my decision, Granger,” Malfoy continued as if there had been no interruption, “because I’ve decided that I want you, and as I’ve said, I usually get what I want.” He said this as casually as if he had been talking about a particularly delicious dessert.

Hermione’s speechlessness was solidified with that declaration. She stared up at Malfoy, her mouth agape, her mind frantically trying to figure out what he was really after and how badly this would end. Malfoy ignored her and bent closer, looking at her intently. Hermione had only ever seen that particular expression on men who had been bewitched by Veela, and it frightened her in a different way than the threatening looks Malfoy had given her earlier. What did he mean? How could this not be some sick game? Just as she thought for sure that Malfoy was going to kiss her, he tilted his head to the side as if to kiss her on the cheek, but he didn’t do that either.

“You’re going to belong to me now,” he whispered roughly into Hermione’s oversensitive ear. “The sooner you accept that, the better you and I will get along.”

She shivered and tried to pull away, but he held her firmly against the wall with seemingly very little effort. Her back and wrists felt bruised and she couldn’t figure out what else he wanted from her before he would let her be.

Even while her mind raged that she didn’t belong to anyone, and that Malfoy could never tell her what to do, Hermione could not force the words through her lips. Her body was practically frozen, apparently only responsive to Malfoy’s will rather than her own, and she felt that her voice had fled for good. He hadn’t even used any magic, and she felt compelled to do whatever he told her to.

“What’ve you got to say to that?” The question was whispered into her neck this time, softly, commanding and enticing at the same time. Malfoy released Hermione’s arms slowly, but she could not move them. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes, unblinking, so that she was transfixed. Without breaking the gaze, he gently guided her arms back to her sides. She still did not feel like she could control them, and getting her wand back was still out of the question.

“Is the Great Hermione Granger speechless? Impossible!” Draco taunted. “Tell me that you know I’m right.” He said this with a dangerous smirk.

Hermione stared back into Malfoy’s piercing stormy eyes, still frozen, but her voice was compelled by fear.

“I…” She blinked and looked down, utterly horrified at her own inability to resist, to even just stay silent, but Malfoy’s hand gently raised her chin so that she was looking into his eyes again. “I’ll admit… that I think… that you might not be wrong.”

Malfoy stared at Hermione with an unreadable expression, then after a few excruciating moments his lips broke into an amused smile that was not altogether unpleasant.

“Ever-so-clever as always, Granger. I should have expected nothing less.” He straightened up and stepped back a few inches, so that Hermione was free. “I’ll accept that… for now.” On the last two words, his eyes gained a threatening gleam, but they softened again as he gazed at her frightened face.

“Don’t worry, precious.” He almost seemed to purr as he brushed her hair behind her ears with two fingers as if to soothe her, but his expression was anything but comforting. “If I haven’t hurt you yet, you can be sure that I don’t intend to.”

He leaned close to her then, and just when she thought again that he might kiss her, he slipped her wand back into her pocket and turned to leave. Before Hermione could say another word, he had disappeared around a corner and was gone. It was not until ten minutes later that she realized she was half an hour past curfew and that she’d better not let any of the other students see her on her way back to Gryffindor Tower.


	2. Hypothesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Hermione managed to get back to her room in something of a daze, miraculously avoiding discovery. A few shocked moments after she made her way back, she found herself lying in her bed, fully dressed, trying to figure out exactly what had happened.

Malfoy had said that he “wanted” her. That meant… _sex_ … right? Hermione’s face flushed. She had never gotten beyond kissing with Viktor, and Ron was only recently beginning to show a real interest in her. If that’s what Malfoy had meant, then he couldn’t be serious. Malfoy was reputed to be an experienced and even talented lover, Hermione knew, but why would he have any interest in her? She definitely wasn’t his type, if Pansy Parkinson was any indication. He must have been trying to get a rise out of her. It had to be some kind of joke. That evil snake had nothing else to amuse himself with Harry gone.

What bothered Hermione even more than Malfoy’s profession of interest in her was her own reaction to him. She had not been able to move, had barely been able to speak, and had not screamed, made an honest effort to retrieve her wand, or kicked him and run away. She had simply stood there against the wall like an idiot, allowing him to torment her. She was horrified at the thought that he could have done anything he wanted to her, and she might not have resisted. A cold shiver of fear ran through her at this thought. He was a dangerous man, and she should have been able to defend herself against him.

But he hadn’t done anything at all, really, besides trap her against the wall. He had not hurt her, touched her inappropriately, or even kissed her, despite what he had said about “wanting” her. Hermione flushed at the thought of his body so close to hers, nearly touching, his lips centimeters away from her skin… She shivered as she felt a tingling warmth begin to grow between her legs, chasing away the cold of fear entirely. She felt stiflingly warm all of a sudden, and it was no wonder as she was under her covers with her robes on. She got out of bed and stripped off her robe, shoes, and tie, followed by her shirt and skirt. She was reaching down to remove her stockings when her arm accidentally grazed across her breast, exciting the nerves in her nipple and causing her to gasp in surprise.

Hermione shook off the feeling and removed her stockings and her bra, pulling on an oversized t-shirt and some pajama bottoms. It had been a while since she had touched herself, and her nerves were very sensitive. She always felt guilty when she gave in to the impulse, but had long ago realized that fighting it was a losing battle. Maybe she should just get it over with so that it wouldn’t distract her. After all, she had a private room this year, so she wouldn’t need to worry about being discovered. She went back over to her bed and climbed in, but did not pull the covers up because she was too warm.

Shifting against her pillows and blankets to get comfortable, Hermione sighed and tried to relax. She conjured up thoughts of Ron kissing her, touching her, making love to her, trying to imagine what it would be like if he ever got the nerve to do any of those things. A brilliant and imaginative mind could be a blessing and a curse when it came to fantasizing. Her mind wandered, as it always did when she fantasized, from welcome thoughts of Ron to unbidden ones about Harry and even a few confused ones about Ginny. She tried to focus on an image of Ron kissing her bare breasts as she let a hand trail over to play with her left nipple through her soft nightshirt. She sighed in pleasure and the warm, tingly feeling between her legs intensified.

Hermione brought her other hand up to rub her right nipple and let her mind wander again into fragments of dozens of different fantasies, simply wanting to be immersed in imagined pleasure without judging herself too harshly for what her subconscious came up with. Ron was sucking gently on her nipples, leaving bite marks on her breasts… She was sucking on Harry’s cock and it was so big in her mouth… Ginny was looking up at her from between her legs, licking her clit with her soft tongue and it felt so good…

Hermione continued to rub her nipples through her shirt with her left hand, loving the slight friction the fabric created, while her right hand inched down into her pajama bottoms. Her fingers rubbed her clit through her panties softly, teasingly. Her mind wandered still. Ron was thrusting his fingers in and out of her while they kissed… Harry was begging her to let him come in her mouth… Ginny was sucking gently on her clit while her ginger hair spilled over Hermione’s thighs…

Hermione’s clit was noticeably hard through her underwear and she knew she was wet so she slipped her hand into her panties, dragging some of the wetness her opening was drenched in up to her clit with her middle finger. She began to stroke the slick pebble of flesh feverishly as her left hand pinched her nipples gently in turn. Ron was fingering her and she was thrusting back against him so hard… Harry was coming in her mouth and grabbing her hair… Ginny was dipping her tongue inside her… Malfoy was pinning her against a wall and kissing her…

At this very unwelcome thought, Hermione’s body seemed to rejoice. Her stomach lurched as a sudden flood of wetness coated her pussy and a hot shiver ran through her entire body. Her nipples and clit became instantly rock hard. She didn’t want to think about Malfoy. It was sick that he affected her this way. He was evil, and cruel, and he was just playing games with her. But it felt so good to think about him. Why shouldn’t she enjoy it? It was only a fantasy, after all. What harm could it do?

Malfoy was still kissing her… He was pulling off her robes and pinning her back against the wall… Hermione groaned and pinched one of her nipples, flicking her middle finger across her clit even harder and faster. Malfoy was sliding her skirt up… She wasn’t wearing any panties... He was massaging her breasts through her school shirt and bra… He was kissing her neck and unzipping his trousers… He was sliding into her and then he was fucking her against the wall and he was so big and so deep and so good and—

Hermione stifled a moan as the pleasurable itch in her clit bloomed into the most incredible orgasm she could remember since the first one she’d had when she was fourteen. Her hips bucked upward slightly as she came, thrusting to match Malfoy’s imagined rhythm. At last it became too much to bear and she removed her fingers from her clit, instead gently sliding two of them into her pussy so she could tense and release around them, riding out the last of her orgasm.

She sighed in disappointment at the lack of pleasure she received from her small fingers, wishing they were a penis or a man’s fingers or even some sort of sex toy if only she could be filled up. She hadn’t had the nerve yet to buy such things for herself, holding out hope that Ron would eventually show some interest, and using magic during masturbation was still a frightening prospect. She would, however, use it to clean up. She picked up her wand with her clean hand, muttered “ _Scourgify_ ” as she pointed it at her right hand, then at her pussy, and then pulled up the covers and, forcing any further thoughts of Malfoy out of her mind, fell into sleep.

*****

Draco Malfoy awoke smiling with a half-formed erection creating a tent in his pajama bottoms: the remnants of several dreams about Hermione. He would bet money that Granger had gotten off thinking about him the previous night. Some of the other Slytherins said that there was no way such a prudish girl touched herself, but Draco knew better. The bookish ones were always the wildest in bed. They spent too much time alone with their thoughts.

Malfoy was convinced that the Head Girl would be taking full advantage of having private quarters this year. It’s not as if she were being satisfied by that useless oaf Weasley. Draco would’ve liked nothing better than to have been there the previous night, watching her frantically stroke the little pink clit that lay between her gorgeously slender thighs. He wanted to hear his name fall from her full lips in a moan as she came…

Draco growled in satisfaction at this image, but forced himself to put the thoughts aside and ignore his now fully erect cock. He couldn’t exactly wank in the dormitory he shared with the other Seventh Years, even if it was Saturday and most of them were gone... He considered sating himself with one of the younger Slytherin girls, but dismissed the thought because he knew they would only disappoint him. Besides, with his mind set on Granger, any minor conquests might cheapen the thrill of the chase. He would just have to work harder to get her more quickly.

He dressed and went down to breakfast, not at all surprised to see Granger sitting with Weasley and Weasley’s little sister, Potter’s squeeze. Draco gave the Weasley girl an appraising look and had to admit that he could see why she was so popular with boys and girls alike. Even Blaise Zabini had mentioned on several occasions that he would love to get her in bed. Still, she was a Weasley, and Draco had a hard time forgiving that.

Draco sat alone at the end of the Slytherin table and helped himself to eggs and beans, glancing surreptitiously over at Granger every few minutes. At last the mail arrived. He watched as his own eagle owl dropped a letter in front of Granger. She opened it in confusion, read it, and glanced nervously over at Draco with a flush, refusing to show the letter to Weasley when he tried to look at it. Draco smirked as Weasley stormed off and the Weasley girl looked at Granger in confusion. This is what the letter had said:

_Granger,_

_Did you think about me last night? If you’re a good girl and meet me in Binns’ classroom after breakfast I can show you if you’re imagining things the right way._

_Don’t forget to whom you belong._

_X_

Hermione was mortified and her face flushed a bright red as she read the letter over again. How could Malfoy have known what she’d done last night? That was simple: he didn’t; he was just teasing her to get a reaction. Ginny looked at Hermione with a puzzled expression, but didn’t ask what was the matter. Hermione could barely meet Ginny’s gaze either after what her subconscious had thought up while she touched herself. Between her guilt at the things she fantasized about and whatever was going on with Malfoy, Ginny was sure to notice something! Her hormones were getting out of hand! She needed to calm herself down.

Quickly, Hermione pointed her wand at the piece of parchment and said, “ _Incendio_!” She was afraid Malfoy would make a scene in the Great Hall and was secretly longing against every logical thought to be alone with him again. Without a word to Ginny other than “Bye!” Hermione hurried out of the Great Hall and up to the History of Magic classroom, which was of course empty because it was Saturday. She did not see Malfoy leave when she did, but he was already in the classroom by the time she got there.

He was sitting on the professor’s desk, smirking at her from across the room.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he stood and walked over to her, circling around her once like a wolf around its prey before shutting and locking the door behind her.

Hermione tried to keep her wits about her. She had her wand in her hand, at least, and she was determined that she would not let Malfoy get it out of her hand this time.

Draco stalked back over to the girl and drew up close behind her, tilting his face down to breathe in the clean, flowery scent of her now somewhat manageable curls. Granger lifted her wand up to her shoulder to point warningly at his neck, but Malfoy simply chuckled and gently placed his hand around hers, lowering her arm to her side.

“You don’t want to hurt me any more than I want to hurt you,” he purred into her ear from behind, still holding her wand hand in his at her side. “And if you really thought you were in danger, you wouldn’t have come. You’re smarter than that.”

“Not smart enough to stay away,” Hermione whispered with a note of defeat in her voice. Something about the tone of his voice or maybe the way he smelled was disarming her. Her eyes slid closed against her will. She slowly let her guard down, resting her weight against Malfoy’s chest, breathing in his scent as it surrounded her—a musky, freshly-laundered smell that contained a sort of spiciness she couldn’t identify.

“Aww, don’t look so sad about it,” Malfoy pouted mockingly and spoke as if talking to a child. “It’s not about smarts, Granger, or you would’ve been the one that got away for sure. What makes you mine has nothing to do with your brilliant. little. head.”

He tousled her hair and nipped at her ear playfully. Hermione wished she could take his words as compliments, but she was sure that he was only teasing her, trying to bait her. Her indignation at this insult helped her regain some of her senses. She turned around to face him and raised her wand, pointing it at his chest.

“I don’t belong to you, Malfoy! I don’t belong to anyone! I-I…” She faltered as he simply smiled wickedly while she yelled at him. “I’m my own person.I don’t have to do what you say.” Her words felt feeble and childish as they left her mouth. Had she really once had the courage to slap this man across the face?

Malfoy smirked as Hermione’s wand tip rested on his heart and she glared up at him. “You’re not going to do what I say because you have to…” he lowered his face to Hermione’s level, “You’re going to do what I say…” his mouth was inches from her neck, “…because you _want_ to.”

With that, he placed a warm, suckling kiss on Hermione’s neck, causing her to unconsciously close her eyes and lower her wand again. He nibbled at her neck gently as he pulled away.

“You can still be your own person,” Malfoy continued conversationally as if nothing had happened, “I never said you shouldn’t be. I like you the way you are.” He placed a finger over Hermione’s lips as she protested. “Shh, _listen_ , Granger,” he scolded. “I just think the way you are needs to be more fully _enjoyed_ by me.”

On the word “enjoyed,” Malfoy pulled Hermione’s body flush against his and grabbed her ass possessively. Hermione blushed, but could not pull away. Instead, she looked up at Malfoy suspiciously, not knowing what to think. Her fear was now being overcome not only by lust, but by one of the most powerful forces that compelled her: curiousity.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? That you really… ‘want’ me?”

Malfoy shrugged dismissively. “You don’t. But Granger, use your big, logical brain: Who can ever really know whether they can trust the other person when they start a… _relationship_?”

Hermione frowned, thinking hard. “But I trust Ron… I want Ron to… I ‘want’ him, and I want him to ‘want’ me.” She shook her head in frustration, confused as to why she was trying to reason with Malfoy about this. It was none of his business. She couldn’t possibly seriously consider his proposition.

“Then think of it this way,” Malfoy continued, stroking Hermione’s hair out of her face, “Weasley hasn’t made a move. Who knows if he’ll ever make one? I’m sure you’re _aching_ for a shag and he hasn’t even tried to touch you. There’s something wrong with that. He’s pathetic, and he doesn’t deserve you.”

For having just insulted the man she loved, Malfoy’s words sounded almost sweet.

“But… what if I love him?” Hermione protested, losing confidence, feeling like a child.

“So what? If you do, and he finally comes around, then you’ll at least have enough experience that maybe _one_ of you can get some pleasure out of sex,” Malfoy shuddered dramatically as if picturing the scene and Hermione had to stifle a giggle.

“If you don’t, or he doesn’t,” Malfoy shrugged, “then all that’s happened is I’ve shown you a great time and your body won’t be wasting away untouched.”

Hermione blushed, running out of protestations. This all sounded far too reasonable.

“But… Ron and Harry… they’ll never forgive me if they find out…” Hermione shifted in Malfoy’s arms, trying to pull away. If this happened, they could never find out. They’d never speak to her again. If they even knew she was considering…

“They don’t have to know.” Malfoy held her firmly in his arms, lifting her chin up so that she had to look at him. “I won’t say a word or otherwise find a way to let them know unless you do first, all right?”

Hermione paused, thinking hard about what she was getting herself into. The last thread of her resolve was unraveling with each second that Malfoy’s eyes bore into hers.

“All right… If you’ll sign a magical contract saying that you won’t tell anyone, I… I’ll let you show me where this can go…”


	3. Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> 
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> * * *

Hermione had expected (with a combination of horror and excitement) that as soon as they had finished sealing the contract, Malfoy would want to throw her down on Professor Binns’ desk and do whatever he wanted to her until she didn’t have enough brains left to be Head Girl. However, as soon as the spell was complete, he had simply said, “I’ll see you around, Granger,” and left the room.

She pondered this unexpected turn of events at the library the next day. Ron and Ginny were doing their homework in the Common Room, but after everything that had happened, Hermione felt like being alone. It was usually easy to get some privacy at the library on a Sunday, and Hermione thought she might as well try to do some reading as long as she was avoiding company.

Yet somehow company found her. After only a few moments of analyzing her encounter with Malfoy the previous night and pretending to read a book on Ancient Runes, Hermione became uncomfortably aware that a person sitting at the table behind her was staring at her. She abruptly put down the book she had not read a word of and looked around.

“Malfoy! What are you doing here?” she hissed in a loud whisper, glaring at him. Just because she had agreed that he could, erm… _pursue_ her didn’t mean that she would let him keep her from studying (although his presence didn’t seem to be necessary for that).

“I sit at this table all the time, Granger.” Malfoy replied in a low, teasing voice and smiled at her. “You just never notice because you’re too busy getting wet over runes and historical facts.”

Draco had, in fact, been sitting at that table on a regular basis since sometime during his Sixth Year, watching Hermione study, both consciously and subconsciously. Even while researching ways to kill Dumbledore, part of him had been watching her. He probably shouldn’t tell her that. It might put her off.

Hermione’s face turned bright red as she stifled an outraged reply, wary of a scolding from Madame Pince.

“How _dare_ you?” she stammered, moving over to stand near his table so she could berate him without getting into trouble.

“How dare I watch you, or how dare I talk about you getting wet? Because I thought both of those things would be perfectly acceptable under the terms of our contract.” Draco could not have looked smugger if he had tried.

Hermione flushed again and searched for a reply as Malfoy grabbed her hand and gently pulled her towards him as he stood, surreptitiously looking around for nearby students.

“Just because we agreed that you could...” Hermione searched for a non-embarrassing euphemism, “ _educate_ me, that doesn’t mean that you can do whatever you want whenever you want!”

Draco waved away her protests as he led her to a secluded corner of the library and behind a tall stack of books. “I think, Granger, that you’re forgetting a key element of this arrangement: the fact that you’re going to do what I want because it’s what _you_ want.”

Hermione looked around at the tall bookshelves, confused as to how she had ended up there. She had been too busy being furious with Malfoy on the way over to notice where they were going.

“Malfoy—What are we doing back here?” Hermione looked up at him suspiciously as he steered her up against the wall. What could he really do in the library, though?

“Learning,” Draco smirked and placed his hands on the wall on either side of Granger, creating a sort of cage. He leaned his head down and pressed his lips against her neck slowly and softly, closing the gap between their bodies.

Hermione’s knees felt weak, but she struggled to stay focused. He couldn’t be serious! “Malfoy, you can’t! The contract says no one can find out. There are people here!”

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled his head away from her neck to look at her. “It’s Sunday. The only person here besides us is Pince; everyone else has a life.”

Hermione looked around nervously and saw that Malfoy was right, though his insinuation that she ‘had no life’ stung a bit, and she frowned at him. His face was uncomfortably close to hers and she was starting to think that it might have been much less nerve-wracking if he would have just taken her on Binns’ desk the day before and had done with it.

“Still, this isn’t what I had in mind—” she protested.Malfoy cut her off with a warning look.

“I don’t care what you had in mind. We agreed that I could do things my way. You wouldn’t be trying to go back on our deal, would you, Granger? I thought smart, sweet little Hermione was never dishonest…” His voice mocked, enticed, belittled, flattered all at once.

Hermione’s entire body shivered at hearing Malfoy speak her first name. She couldn’t recall a time when he had ever said it before. She was surprised he even knew it. The way he said it made her knees weak again and it was so hard to think with him so near.

“No, I… I’m not saying that, I just…” she stammered, “I’m just nervous… that’s all.”

“How precious,” Draco chuckled darkly as Granger’s cheeks were stained with a blush so different from the way they flushed in anger. “Don’t be ashamed,” he brought his lips within an inch of hers and whispered, “it’s okay to want me.”

His words were finally working against him. If only she could ignore his smell and his closeness she might have been able to summon up the laugh that was hiding at the back of her hazy consciousness. What an arrogant prat!

“You don’t know what I want, Malfoy.” She tried to pour as much hatred and loathing as possible into his name.

Draco considered her for a moment, drawing his face away from hers slightly as a thought occurred to him.

“You’re right, Granger, I don’t.” Hermione looked up at him, confused about his meaning. “But I know how to find out.”

Malfoy slowly pulled his wand out from his pocket and Hermione reflexively reached for her own, put on her guard. Malfoy chuckled and restrained her wand hand gently with his left hand before her fingertips had touched the handle of her wand.

“Tsk, tsk, why is everything a fight with you? Just be a good little girl and cooperate and I promise you won’t regret it.”

Hermione suddenly knew what Malfoy was going to do, but fighting him was hopeless. Harry had never been good at Occlumency, so he hadn’t been able to teach Hermione how to do it properly. She didn’t know exactly what she was afraid Malfoy might find; all she knew was that she felt defenseless, and it frightened her. Her mind was her safe haven, and he was going to break into it and take whatever he wanted like a thief. It was low, even for him.

Malfoy raised his wand and said the incantation, “ _Legilimens_!”

Hermione shut her eyes tightly as random memories flashed before her, being sifted through and drawn out expertly by Malfoy. It was no surprise that he was an excellent Legilimens, having been so close to Snape. There was no way she could even begin to defend herself. How could she have been so stupid? She wasn’t even sure of why he had been allowed to come back to school after what he’d done. He could still be a faithful Death Eater, and here she was letting him get at not only her body, but also her mind. He could get any information he wanted on the Order, on Harry, on anything that might be useful and then give it to Voldemort. For all she knew Harry’s life could be in her hands right now and she wasn’t doing a thing to protect it.

Draco smirked as he navigated his way through Granger’s memories, doing her the courtesy of not dwelling on the ones he wasn’t looking for so that she might maintain a certain level of privacy. She was struggling. She didn’t trust him. She probably thought he was going to take some valuable information on Potter. She clearly didn’t understand his situation in relation to the Dark Lord. And if he did more than get exactly what he wanted right now, she would never let him near her again. Luckily, he knew what he was doing. At that moment, he located the very recent memories he had been hoping to find.

Granger was in her bed, alone, touching herself. Malfoy was irritated that he couldn’t see her better through the ‘eyes’ of her memory, but he moved on to what she was thinking about. She was imagining that stupid blood-traitor Weasley kissing her breasts, fingering her. Malfoy’s lip curled up into a sneer at the ridiculous notion that Weasley could even find his way into a pussy. Then Draco saw another fantasy: Potter was hilt-deep between Granger’s delicious-looking lips, fucking her mouth.

Draco was not happy with this image either. He pounded his fist into the wall with a growl and Hermione squeaked in fear and surprise, but he kept searching. He was glad to note from some of Granger’s other memories that Potter had never actually gotten his hands on her, but jealousy still prickled inside him. The next image, however, made him chuckle with delight. That Weasley girl was making a meal out of Granger’s clit. The Gryffindor Princess had quite the imagination, after all! She would definitely be fun to play with.

Draco was about to end the spell, assuming that these three fantasies would repeat, and disappointed that he was wrong about Granger fantasizing about him. Suddenly, a flood of images came to him all at once, as if Granger had been trying to hold them back. A dream version of himself had Granger pinned up against the wall. He was kissing her, grabbing her breasts, hiking up her skirt, fucking her hard and fast against the wall until she was screaming his name and begging for more.

This is what Draco had been hoping to find. This little fantasy proved that he was definitely getting to Granger, with barely any effort at all on his part. He practically purred when he saw what effect Granger’s fantasy about him had on her. Well, at least his dream counterpart was getting the girl off.

Draco whispered “ _Finite Incantatem_ ” and lowered his wand, grinning in triumph.

Malfoy had not looked at anything except her fantasies. He had not used her for information. Hermione trembled between his arms, feeling as though she had just dodged a bullet. Even if he hadn’t looked for anything dangerous, she didn’t know if she could forgive him for this intrusion. She tried desperately to look anywhere but at him, but he gently held her neck right under her chin so that she couldn’t look away.

“I told you not to be ashamed of what you want,” Malfoy brushed Hermione’s hair out of her eyes as he restrained her. “I’ll forgive you those misguided fantasies about Potter and Weasley because you’ve had no _real_ men to focus on, and because I was quite entertained by that little imagined interlude with the Weasley girl, and lastly because you eventually came around to the right way of thinking in the end.”

Hermione wanted so badly to scream to Madam Pince for help, to report Malfoy to Professor McGonnagall for using Legilimency on her, to slap him across the face like she’d done years ago and never speak to him again.

“Don’t… _ever_ …” Hermione was shaking with anger, “do that again… without my permission.”

She glared fiercely up at him and it was Draco’s turn to be rendered speechless. Her fury had blindsided him. She was passionate even in anger. That was probably what had drawn him to her. Not wanting to be outdone, however, and not wanting her to think that she had made him feel he’d done something wrong, he rallied.

“I suppose I’ll just have to find some way,” he slid a hand down her side and rested it on her waist, “to get your permission next time.”

Hermione was unmoved by his touch. “You might have just asked,” she said in a cold, quiet voice.

Her eyes were still burning into his, and Draco had to shake off her gaze. “But you’re just so _adorable_ when you’re angry,” he drawled in feigned amusement.

Hermione ignored his taunt. “ _Think_ about what you just did for one second.” Hermione’s glare was like ice. “You’re a Death Eater.”

“ _Ex_ -Death Eater,” Draco corrected her impatiently.

“It doesn’t matter! You could’ve stolen information on the Order and Harry! I can’t believe I agreed to this. I knew I couldn’t trust you, but I didn’t think you’d go this far—” Words could not describe the anger she was feeling towards him, towards the Order for protecting him, towards herself for being so foolish. She paused and looked up at him, trying to control herself. “Why should I believe that you’re on our side?”

Draco shrugged. “The Order believes it. That should be good enough for you.”

“All I have is your word on that!” exclaimed Hermione, exasperated.

“If you don’t believe me, go talk to one of them. I’m not hiding anything,” Draco replied calmly.

Hermione had not expected such a quick, reasonable answer. She knew at the back of her mind that there was no way Malfoy would have been allowed back at Hogwarts without being cleared by the Order. Still, she promised herself that she’d speak with Professor McGonagall about this later. She let some of her anger abate, but did not let down her guard.

“Is that it? Now that you’ve violated my mind, can I go?” She poured as much disdain into these words as she could muster.

Draco had to bring this back onto his ground. He wasn’t going to apologize for knowing how to get what he wanted. He hadn’t hurt her or taken any valuable information. And it would benefit her, too, in the end. She would thank him for it later.

“Well, it’s really up to you, darling,” Draco’s expression was suddenly very serious, “but I hope you understand that your mind isn’t the only part of you I intend to ‘violate.’”

Draco slid his hand from Granger’s waist up over her right breast and massaged it gently through her shirt, smirking in satisfaction as the Head Girl’s eyes slid shut in pleasure in spite of herself. He should’ve done this ten minutes ago to shut her up. He moved closer to her until she was pinned between his body and the wall behind her.

Hermione was afraid to open her eyes, knowing that Malfoy was probably sneering at her, laughing at her for how easily she gave into him, even when she had been so angry. Why was he doing this? They hadn’t even kissed yet. It was as if he was trying to show her that she would let him do anything to her, even when she was angry with him. Even when she hated him. And her traitorous body was proving him right.

Hermione was so preoccupied with her shame and fury at both herself and Malfoy that she was shocked to suddenly feel warm lips pressed against hers for the first time since she and Viktor had stopped seeing each other two years previously. No one that cold should feel so warm. For a moment the kiss was everything Malfoy was not: soft, warm, gentle, chaste. And then he forced his personality into it without warning.

Draco had to stop himself from growling in triumph as he claimed Granger’s lips, pressing his body as close to hers as he possibly could, relinquishing her breast so he could steady them both against the wall with hand and tangle his fingers in her hair with the other. She was moaning softly: in surprise, protest, or pleasure Draco couldn’t tell, and didn’t care.

She didn’t kiss back at first, and then she tried, timidly. It was cute, really, how overwhelmed she was. How she couldn’t keep up with the voracity with which he roughly parted her lips with his tongue and plunged it between them, tasting her mouth for the first time. She’d have to learn how to match his pace quickly.

Then Hermione recovered from the initial shock of the kiss that had become rough and demanding. Viktor had never kissed her like this; he was always slow, gentle, almost awkward. This was completely new. It was so rough and primal and sexual that she felt her body responding immediately. She began to play with Malfoy, learning to match him, challenging his power over her. All of her remaining anger was forced into this kiss, transforming into passion. She began to suck on his tongue when it plunged into her mouth, to nip at his lips every now and then as if hungry for more. Finally, she worked up the courage to press her body back against his and wrap her arms around his neck, tugging on the short blonde locks at the back of his head.

Fuck yes, that was more like it. Draco ground his hips into Granger’s mercilessly, ignoring her gasp of embarrassed recognition as she felt his stiff cock pressing into her thigh through their clothing. By Merlin, she had a delicious mouth. Draco broke the kiss abruptly and examined the girl’s reddened, kiss-swollen lips with satisfaction. He was momentarily stunned as her eyes fluttered open, half-lidded with lust, black pupils nearly drowning out the honey gold. She really had grown into herself over the years. But Draco couldn’t get carried away. He was going to make Granger want him so badly that she’d be putty in his hands, and that would take time.

Hermione gazed into Malfoy’s eyes in confusion, frowning in disappointment at the loss of the kiss, dazed by its intensity. When he didn’t move or speak, she began to feel insecure.

“Was I… bad?” Hermoine grimaced, wanting approval in this subject as if it were any other.

Malfoy shook his head in disbelief and chuckled. “I knew you would be fun, Granger.”

Before Hermione could think of a response, Malfoy had released her, fixed his hair, and walked out of the library.


	4. Conjecture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Every rational part of Hermione wanted to fight Malfoy, to somehow get him punished for what he had done to her. The nerve of him! She doubted that going to a teacher would solve anything, though. Her own anger had seemed to have no effect on him, and if it did, then she’d certainly undermined that by giving in to him so easily.

She was further frustrated by the fact that the kiss had turned her on so effectively that she’d had to go straight back to her room to masturbate just so she could get him off her mind long enough to finish her homework before dinner. And of course while she was touching herself all she could see was Malfoy. Malfoy pinning her to the wall in the library, pressing up against her, grabbing her, making her show him her fantasies, kissing her like she’d never been kissed before. The most amazing and horrifying part of this was that now she was getting off to memories, not fantasies.

When Ron and Ginny returned from Quidditch practice just before dinner, covered in mud and grass, Hermione found that she could barely look at either of them without feeling ashamed. She felt certain that if either of them knew what had happened in the library, they would be disgusted with her.

As they talked about their day over dinner, Hermione knew that it wasn’t exactly a lie to say that she’d spent the day doing homework, but she still felt guilty. However, she found that the more Ron talked, the more her guilt was replaced by irritation and self-righteousness. It was Ron, really, who had driven her to this! People kept telling her that if she just waited for him to pluck up the courage, he would make a move. But he’d had so many opportunities, and he hadn’t done anything! She was beginning to think that he didn’t fancy her at all. That hurt, because she really thought she loved him. But clearly, if anything was going to happen between them, it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Hermione’s mind wandered as Ron blathered on and on about Quidditch practice. If it was obvious that nothing would happen between Ron and her in the near future, then why should she feel guilty about letting Malfoy kiss her? It’s not as if she had a boyfriend that she was cheating on. If someone as handsome and as universally desired as Malfoy could find Hermione attractive, then what was Ron’s problem? Surely if she had no obligation to Ron, she was free to experiment with Malfoy as much as she wished. But what if that led to sex? That thought made Hermione nervous. She had always wanted her first time to be with someone special… someone that she loved. She had hoped that it would be Ron, but how could she even be sure that he loved her?

What would happen if she ended up giving her virginity to someone like Draco Malfoy? If Ron finally came around, maybe years from now, would he forgive her? Honestly, though, she was seventeen years old! Anyone who expected her not to have slept with someone else by the time she was seventeen would be acting unreasonably, so any future boyfriends couldn’t take issue with it. And if they did, maybe they weren’t worth it. Ron could be hardheaded about a lot of things, but Hermione liked to hope that if he really cared about her, he would forgive her for sleeping with someone else. …She might just leave out the bit about it being Draco Malfoy.

A nervous smile crossed Hermione’s lips as she solidified her decision in her mind. She would go ahead with the agreement she and Malfoy had made, even if it lead to sex, and she wouldn’t waste any more time feeling guilty about it. Well, not _too_ much time, anyway. She was of age now and was more than capable of making these kinds of decisions for herself.

“What’s so funny, ‘Mione?” Ginny looked at Hermione curiously, noticing her smile.

Hermione snapped to attention with a start, blushing and trying to act as though she had been listening to their conversation all along.

“Nothing! I just… I was just thinking about something I read in a book.” _Stellar_ recovery.

Ron rolled his eyes. “You and your books, Hermione. Honestly, you really need to get out and have some fun once in a while.”

Hermione glared at Ron. “As a matter of fact, _Ronald_ , I happen to _like_ reading. And just because you aren’t around to see me having fun, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have any.”

Gathering up her books hastily, she stormed off, leaving a stunned Ron and Ginny at the Gryffindor table wondering what had just happened.

*****

The girl really had no idea what she had gotten herself into.

Draco knew from experience that the easiest way to keep a girl from getting attached to you is to give her a really selfish fucking and then kick her out before she can put her clothes back on. If you want her to be physically, but not emotionally attached, then you give her a slightly less selfish fucking that makes all other sex pale in comparison, then kick her out before she can put her clothes back on. But if you want her to be attached to you, body and consciousness, craving you every minute that you’re not touching her, then you’ve got to move slowly.

He would make sure that Granger would crave him like that. Draco wanted to plague her consciousness like she had been plaguing his. He would have her begging for him in the end. So far, he’d been doing exactly the right things to ensure that that happened. If he continued toying with her at this pace, by the time he actually claimed the little virgin she would be completely his. What he would do then, he didn’t know. Perhaps the game would become boring once he reached his goal. Most likely he’d break it off abruptly and leave poor Granger heartbroken, but with a store of sexual experience that would make any man lucky to be with her.

But the thought of another man touching Granger made Malfoy growl lowly to himself. Obviously he would not be able to consider that idea until he had tired of her. His obsession with her was clearly linked to his natural possessiveness. Granger belonged to him, for as long as he wanted her, and he would take every step he could think of to make sure not only that she understood that perfectly, but also that she would be so completely devoted to him that she wouldn’t even consider letting anyone else touch her.

*****

Monday dawned dreary and dark, muted by heavy autumnal rain. The castle was chilly, but significantly preferable to the cold, soggy grounds. After classes were over for the day, Ron and Ginny decided to spend the evening in the Common Room working on the homework they hadn’t been able to complete over the weekend because of Quidditch. Hermione was still upset with Ron (though he had no idea why), and refused to help him with his homework, so she was spending her evening in the library.

She had intended to read up on some particularly difficult equations for Arithmancy so she could be sure she had them right, but she couldn’t seem to focus. Every time she read more than a few paragraphs, her mind would begin to fill with the memories that had dominated her thoughts the previous evening: Malfoy kissing her behind the stacks, reading her mind so he could see her fantasies, touching her and pressing up against her in ways that were more than she had experienced, but far less than she really wanted.

She became so wrapped up in these memories that they spilled over into fantasies. Now it was Malfoy who was kissing her breasts, fingering her, licking her clit, coming in her mouth. She couldn’t see any other face but his and she couldn’t stop thinking about what he had done and everything she wanted him to do to her. Trying to study was pointless! This arrangement of theirs might end up affecting her NEWTs if she wasn’t careful.

“That must be a really good book, Granger.”

Hermione gasped in surprise as Malfoy whispered lowly into her ear, causing her heart to skip a beat. She quickly scooted her chair a few inches away from him, unnerved by his proximity.

“Why so skittish? It looks like whatever’s going on in that head of yours isn’t all bad.”

Hermione was confused for a moment as to how Malfoy could possibly know what she had been thinking about without using Legilimency again, and opened her mouth to ask a question to that effect, but Malfoy preempted her.

“The look on your face tells me all I need to know,” Malfoy smirked in satisfaction. And indeed Hermione’s face was flushed. Her lips were a much darker pink than usual and her ears felt like they were on fire. “Were you thinking about me, pet?”

Hermione struggled in vain to get her blushing under control as Malfoy sat down next to her and moved his chair closer to hers. She couldn’t stand that damnable smirk of his! It made her feel like nothing she could say would faze him in the least, but everything he said flustered her into speechlessness no matter how much she reminded herself what an arrogant ass he was.

“Answer me,” Malfoy commanded as he placed his hand on Hermione’s knee under the table and began to slide it slowly up her thigh. She immediately wished that she had changed out of her uniform skirt after classes, but was glad that at least she was wearing tights underneath it, though they did not feel like much protection against his large, warm hand.

“I… I was just trying to study,” Hermione stammered defiantly, practically holding her breath as the hand slid higher. It was halfway up her thigh, about to disappear beneath her skirt.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Malfoy’s tone was firm, almost threatening. His hand was under her skirt now.

“I…” Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed, half in pleasure, half in anxiety. She was so angry that he was telling her what to do, but for some reason another part of her was afraid to disobey him, and she whispered, barely audibly, “It was…”

Malfoy smirked and whispered hotly into her ear as his fingers reached the very top of her inner thigh, making her shiver. “I’m sorry, darling, but I didn’t catch that last bit. ‘It was’ what?”

Hermione cringed and gave in, replying in a whisper, “It was… you… that I was thinking about.”

“Good girl,” Malfoy’s lips shifted into a triumphant smile. Hermione thought that he would take his hand away since she’d done what he wanted, but instead he abruptly cupped the warm mound between her legs and roughly stroked her clit a few times through her tights and damp panties before pulling his hand away. She gasped, first in surprise, then pleasure, then at the loss. How did he know exactly where it was through her clothing? Hermione supposed that he must have touched dozens, maybe even hundreds of girls before her. He acted as if he knew her body intimately and he hadn’t even seen her naked yet.

Malfoy chuckled darkly. “So hot down there, Granger! And all from some silly fantasies?”

Hermione blushed and pressed her knees together in embarrassment. Malfoy stood up and stretched, motioning for her to do the same. “Put your things away and come with me.”

“But—” Hermione began to protest that she wasn’t done studying, but Malfoy gave her the silencing gesture that worked so well on her.

“Do what I say,” he commanded firmly, and there was no amusement in his eyes.

Hermione hesitated, then nodded and put her books away, glaring at him the whole time because she could apparently do nothing else to resist him. When she was done, Malfoy took her hand and led her out of the library. With any other boy, she would have taken this hand-holding as a sign of affection. With Malfoy, however, it was authoritative, almost condescending. He was leading her like a parent would a naughty child.

They did not meet many other students on the way, but a Seventh Year from Ravenclaw gave them look of suspicious surprise as she passed by and two Fifth Year Slytherins shot Hermione glares of jealous loathing before Malfoy stared them down and they quickly scampered away. Hermione wondered idly if Malfoy had slept with one or even both of them, and decided that he probably had. There probably wasn’t a halfway-attractive Slytherin girl over the age of fifteen that Malfoy hadn’t gotten his hands on, or worse. Maybe it was some sort of sick right of passage, or maybe he was just that good.

Draco led the Head Girl through the corridors up to the hallway outside the Room of Requirement. Funny—she had all of the authority a Hogwarts student could possess, yet she hadn’t yet tried to use any of it against him. She was already wrapped around his finger. Perfect. Just as Granger was beginning to notice where they were, Draco positioned himself outside of where he knew the invisible room was and thought clearly, ‘I need a place to teach this girl how to fuck where no one can interrupt on us.’

The request was accepted. After a moment, a doorknob and the outline of a door appeared on the wall, and Draco opened it with his free hand, leading Granger through it with his other hand and closing it behind them. Draco looked around, and had to admit that he was impressed with the room’s initiative and creativity. It looked very similar to his room back home. There was a fireplace on one wall with a comfortable-looking black sofa a safe distance away. The walls were draped in what looked like hand-woven tapestries of famous events from Wizarding history. A beautiful Oriental silk carpet with a snake pattern on it covered most of the floor. Lastly, in the back corner stood a large bed with a solid ebony frame, covered in blankets and pillows of various shades of green, silver, and black. His appreciation of the room was interrupted by a gasp from the girl next to him.

Hermione’s eyes were wide with awe and she had momentarily forgotten Malfoy’s purpose in bringing her to such a place in favor of examining its aesthetics. She immediately scanned the tapestries, trying to recognize which events they captured, her academic mind in its element.

“I had no idea the Room of Requirement could create a room with so much detail. What did you tell it you needed?”

Malfoy did not answer, and Hermione flushed when she realized what the answer to her question probably was.As an afterthought, she wondered if Malfoy brought all the girls he slept with to this room.

Draco was impressed with the room as well. He had actually never thought to use this room for his sexual endeavors before, having only recently discovered its true nature (he had only ever been in the room when it stored forbidden items when he was trying to fix the vanishing cabinet). Usually when Draco wanted to sleep with a girl, an empty classroom, the Prefects’ bathroom, or even one of their dormitories would suffice (when he didn’t much care who walked in on them).

“I admit the room has managed to capture my tastes,” Draco commented in a superior tone.Realizing he was still holding Granger’s hand, Draco released it and went over to the sofa, reclining comfortably in front of the fire. He lazily kicked off his shoes and socks, wanting to be able to appreciate the luxurious carpet the next time he stood. Since classes were over for the day, he had changed out of his school robes, so he was left in a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeved blue-gray shirt. The fire was warm, but the room itself was still fairly chilly, so he did not need to roll up his sleeves to be comfortable.

“Come here, Granger,” Draco beckoned imperiously, “and take off your shoes before you ruin the carpet.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she obeyed without protest, sliding off her shoes and placing them delicately against the wall by the door. The fire made the room warmer than the halls outside, so she slipped off the red and gold jumper Mrs. Weasley had made for her. She now wore only her thigh-length pleated skirt, tights, and her uniform button-up blouse. She had taken off her tie after classes were over for the day.

Draco looked the girl up and down as she walked over to sit on the sofa by his feet. He rolled his eyes as he noticed the discarded sweater and said scathingly, “Do you have to parade about in those disgusting colors all the time?”

Hermione had hoped that Malfoy would be pleased with the way she looked, even if she hadn’t changed out of her uniform, and the remark stung. She managed to bite out a retort: “At least I don’t decorate everything with green and silver and snakes. I bet your room at home looks just like this!”

Draco scowled. “If you’re lucky you just might end up in that room someday. Not many girls have proved themselves worthy.” In fact, no girl had ever slept with him in his bed at home. There were none he had considered bringing home to his parents except maybe Pansy, and she was too obnoxious to have in his house for the summer, not to mention that she was so terrible in bed that he’d only had sex with her once. Merlin help him if his parents ever got serious about him marrying that cow. “It would be quite a feat for a mudblood. I don’t think we’ve had one in the house in centuries.”

Draco had not meant to use that word, but pureblood habit had gotten the better of him. He saw Granger’s cheeks burn and her eyes tear up at the insult. She should have expected he’d return her barb, but she was passionate, and he shouldn’t have gone so far to retaliate. There was a line between teasing and torture that Draco no longer wanted to cross with this girl. However, that didn’t mean he was going to hug her and apologize, either.

“Don’t worry—I’ll have you in green and silver and loving it before you know it.” Draco tried to soften the blow by flirting. He actually loved that Granger always wore her house colors. It proved that he was getting his hands on something he ought not to. At the same time, being able to get her into his house’s colors definitely had a twisted sort of appeal as well…

Hermione quickly wiped her eyes, not wanting Malfoy to see how much that stupid word had hurt her. Why should it bother her? Malfoy’s proud pureblood family was in disgrace, and had no right to look down on her. She was Head Girl, and Malfoy hadn’t even been allowed to return as a Prefect! This thought made her feel better, and she looked over at Malfoy determinedly, wanting to be ready for whatever would happen next.

Draco was smirking, imagining Granger’s slender form in some particularly revealing green and silver silk lingerie. He was glad to note that she hadn’t dissolved into tears over his insult. That was the last thing he wanted to deal with. He had almost expected her to hit him, like she’d done years ago, but she didn’t. She was looking at him expectantly from as far over on the other side of the sofa as possible. There was something delicious about the fact that he could call her ‘mudblood’ now and she wouldn’t even say a word. Draco motioned for her to move closer.

“Come sit by me.” His voice was almost a growl. “It’s time to start our first lesson.”


	5. Experimentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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“Lesson?” Hermione eyed Malfoy suspiciously as she moved to sit next to him on the sofa.

“Yes. But first you need to be wearing the right uniform. Sit up on your knees.”

Hermione hesitated, then moved to a kneeling position on the sofa, bracing herself by placing a hand on its back and facing Malfoy. She was nervous and didn’t trust him, but she was also curious, and she had agreed to cooperate.

Draco looked Hermione over appraisingly and pulled out his wand. She seemed to be put on her guard as he did this, but she didn’t move. It was something in her posture or expression, perhaps. She _bristled_. Silently, he thought of the incantations that would accomplish what he wanted. He had become fairly adept at nonverbal magic over the past year. As he pointed his wand, the top two buttons of Hermione’s blouse came undone, opening up her shirt low enough so that the top of her cleavage could be seen. Next, the blouse untucked itself and her skirt rolled itself up at the waist, becoming several inches shorter. Lastly, her hair was magically pulled up into a tight ponytail, fastened with a conjured silver ribbon.

Hermione fixed her eyes on Malfoy in an indignant glare for the entirety of the alterations to her appearance. When he was done, his eyes gained a gleam that made her suddenly feel very warm. She spoke to ease the discomfort she was feeling under his gaze.

“So,” she cleared her throat, which felt tight with nervousness. “You said something about a lesson?”

Draco nodded slowly. “Eager to learn, as always, Granger.”

He did not elaborate. Hermione’s stomach was churning with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. There was a significant amount of irritation, too, at Malfoy’s smug refusal to explain what was going to happen. Leave it to him to make this as difficult as possible for her.

“You will agree to do whatever I say, without question.” It was a command, not a request.

Hermione had the sudden urge to slap that smirk off Malfoy’s face. Unfortunately, she also had the urge to accept the terms immediately in the hope that he would finally do something to her. And there was also the contract to consider. Slowly, she nodded her agreement.

“Good girl,” Malfoy purred and pushed Hermione down so that she was lying on the sofa with him straddling her carefully, teasingly refusing to actually make contact with her body. “Lesson one…”

Without warning, Draco leaned his head down and pressed his lips against Granger’s, working them with his as fiercely as he’d done the day before. He was pleased to note that she responded much more quickly and assertively this time, kissing back with a passion that almost took him aback. Apparently her status as a quick learner might extend to areas beyond academics.

Draco broke the kiss and placed his lips next to Hermione’s ear, whispering hotly into it. “This is the part where we find out what you like.”

Hermione didn’t know what Malfoy meant, but she shivered as the hot breath hit her ear. Would she ever get used to his whispers? He was already driving her mad and she had to force herself not to move. Her body ached for him to press himself against her, but he maintained the space between them, with his lips and her ear in the closest proximity.

“Let’s see… I already know some of the things you like… or at least that you like the idea of,” his voice was almost inexplicable. It coaxed and teased with a familiarity that made Hermione feel that he knew things about her that he should not, while at the same time it was cold like an instructor, calculating and indifferent to her feelings. As he continued, he spoke painstakingly slowly, drawing every word out until Hermione could barely stand it.

“Having your hard, pink nipples licked…”

She trembled beneath him.

“Getting fingered deeper than you can reach…”

The low roughness of his voice was maddening.

“A warm, wet tongue on your pussy, on your sensitive little clit…”

Draco smiled inwardly, feeling her shiver and twist beneath him, trying not to react as his words inevitably created matching images in her head. He was gauging her reactions, storing away the data for future reference.

He wasn’t even touching her. She was wet and wanton, and they were only words.

“What about…” Malfoy continued mercilessly, “a long, thick, hard cock between your lips… fucking your mouth relentlessly… coming into that delicate little throat.”

She stifled the moan that threatened to escape, but there was no way he was fooled.

“Aww, I think Granger likes dirty words…” Draco slid the tip of his tongue along the edge of Granger’s ear teasingly, causing her to gasp and shiver violently before he continued. “You’re already wet and I haven’t even touched you, aren’t you, you little slut?”

His tongue on her ear was electrifying and she instantly wanted it to be everywhere on her body at once. What was wrong with her? Malfoy was insulting her, but instead of being hurt or angry, she was actually enjoying it. She was so sick of being thought of as an innocent, untouchable, prudish bookworm that perhaps being a “slut” was preferable. At least it implied that she was desirable.… She refused to answer his question, however.

“Yes… you think about me fucking you…. You stroke your slick, hard little clit and moan my name…” Draco nibbled on Granger’s earlobe delicately. “You imagine me inside you while you make yourself come.” He paused. “Don’t you,” he growled, “you _filthy_ little mudblood?”

The effect was undeniable. Rather than crying, slapping him, or even looking ashamed, Hermione moaned, arching her hips up, trying to make contact with Malfoy’s desperately. She tilted her head to the side, trying to catch his lips in a kiss, which he denied her at first by moving his head away.

Draco had to admit to himself that he had rarely seen anything as sexy as the expression on Granger’s face at that moment. He felt himself grow noticeably hard. He had called her a mudblood, and she had practically had an orgasm because of it. That deserved some recognition. Draco finally rewarded the Head Girl’s desperate mouth with a rough kiss, nipping at her lips and tongue as she tried to get more from him.

“What was that, Granger?” Draco broke the kiss and teased, “I thought that was an awful, rude word that only stuck-up, no-good purebloods use to make themselves feel like they’re important.” He lowered himself slightly and ground his hips into hers, making sure she felt his erection pressing through his trousers and her skirt against her damp panties. “Mudblood,” he growled against her mouth as he kissed her again. “Dirty, horny, sexy, naughty little mudblood!”

Hermione relinquished what little control over herself she had left and ground her hips feverishly back up into Malfoy’s, her knickers soaked, her clit throbbing with need. She didn’t care what Malfoy called her or did to her. She wanted him to do everything. She wanted him to touch her, lick her, stroke her, fuck her any way he wanted to, though she could never have told him so. The nagging voice in the back of her head that voiced her fears about doing all of those things was barely audible.

Draco pulled his hips away from Granger’s and rolled off her, standing beside the sofa and looking down on her utterly disappointed, disheveled self.

“Good girl,” he smirked. “I feel like I’ve learned a lot today, don’t you?”

Hermione struggled to recover control over herself, consciously slowing her breathing as she looked up at Malfoy.

“What?” He couldn’t be serious….

“I think today’s lesson is over,” Draco said and turned to gather his things.

Was he honestly going to get her worked up like this and just leave her? Wasn’t all of this his idea? Didn’t he want to touch her? Hermione needed so badly to come, but there was no way she was going to beg. Her expression conveyed her annoyance and frustration.

“Poor thing,” Malfoy sneered, but seemed to reconsider after looking down at Hermione again. “Oh, very well. Take off your shirt and skirt.”

Hermione didn’t know what Malfoy intended to do, and she hesitated. As badly as she wanted this, it was still no small thing to be that exposed before Draco Malfoy. However, she had agreed to cooperate, so she hopefully obeyed. She sat up on the sofa and slowly unbuttoned and removed her blouse, shivering as the cool air touched her skin. She then slid off her skirt and draped both garments over the back of the sofa. She finally lay back down, looking at Malfoy warily, a ball of nervous anticipation sitting heavy in her stomach.

Draco wished he could take a picture of the sight before him. Granger was lying on the sofa, her hair splayed out from the ponytail, eyes and lips dark with lust, wearing nothing but a white bra and knickers, complete with a noticeable damp spot. There was silence for a few moments as he gazed at her bare skin in appreciation.

“You may touch yourself,” Malfoy said, as if he were granting a favor. He kneeled down next to the sofa to get a better view. His expression was unreadable.

Hermione was confused and incensed. Oh, she _may_ , may she? How generous! She had half a mind to dress and leave immediately, and to hell with the contract. But then she thought of walking back to Gryffindor Tower in this state, dreading any embarrassing questions about where she’d been and why she looked so disheveled. And even if she got back without incident, she would still be left wanting.... Even if she were only touching herself, it would be much different in front of Malfoy than alone. And that difference excited Hermione in spite of herself.

This was too good. Granger might actually do it. Draco admitted to himself that this had been a gamble. She was either going to yell at him and storm out, or she was going to give in and do it. From the lack of screaming and the look on her face, Draco deduced that Hermione Granger might actually be about to get herself off right in front of him. Who would ever believe it?

Now the only challenge was going to be keeping himself from helping out. And there wouldn’t be time to teach her how to properly return the favor. Draco supposed he would simply have to think about this moment later while he got one of the Fifth Year girls to suck him off. It wouldn’t do to lose his self control now when he was only beginning to teach her.

Hermione didn’t move. He was just _looking_ at her. This might have been the most awkward moment of her entire life. And yet it was also somehow… _what was the word_... titillating? The way he was staring at her. The way he had hovered over her, whispering her fantasies into her ear like that. The thing she was contemplating doing right in front of him…. Her face flushed under his gaze. If she could only pluck up the courage to make her hands move….

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Slide those dainty little fingers into your knickers and stroke yourself while I watch.” He looked positively evil in his self-satisfaction.

Somehow his infuriating condescension unfroze her. Hermione closed her eyes to alleviate some of the awkwardness and hesitantly positioned her left hand over her breasts and her right hand at the top of her underwear. The idea of Malfoy watching her was exciting, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She knew he had seen her fantasizing about him, but it was so different when he was actually there. After another moment, she slid the middle finger of her left hand over her left nipple and stifled a gasp of reaction. She was so much more sensitive than usual because of all of Malfoy’s teasing. The nipple pebbled almost instantly and it felt so good that she shifted to the right one, rubbing each in turn through her bra and choking back soft moans of surprise and pleasure.

“That’s it,” Malfoy said after a few moments, and Hermione nearly jumped from surprise. She had almost forgotten that he was there. “Show me what you do when you think about me.”

A hot shiver ran through Hermione’s body at these words. His voice was electrifying. It had been almost unbearable before, and she hadn’t been touching herself then. Encouraged by his order and by the heat that was building between her legs because of the attention her breasts were receiving, Hermione slipped her right hand under the waistband of her knickers. She could not contain a low moan of pleasure as she slid her middle finger easily over her clit, which was rock hard and peeking from between the slick lips of her pussy.

Draco was kneeling on the floor next to the sofa now, practically sitting on his hands to keep from reaching out to touch the girl that was less than an armslength away. He had watched a fair number of girls touch themselves in his lifetime, but he had never seen any girl get herself off as innocently and honestly as Granger did. Most girls would instinctively act a bit; try to put on a show for him. Not Granger. She was purely and honestly dying to come, and she didn’t care who was watching anymore. She was frantically rubbing her nipples and stroking her clit, not caring how it looked. It was incredibly sexy.

Hermione was close. She was going to come. She was going to make herself have an orgasm in front of another living, breathing person for the first time in her life. And she hated him. But she didn’t care. He was handsome and sexy and he kissed her and touched her and made her feel beautiful and naughty. She still couldn’t look at him. She arched her hips up, stroking her clit harder and faster, her hand soaked in her own arousal.

Draco could tell that she was close and that made it even harder not to touch her. He wasn’t going to give in. But he could still be what pushed her over the edge. He watched her hand moving frantically beneath the white cotton and commanded, “Come for me, mudblood.”

With one last flick of her finger, Hermione was consumed by a wave of pleasure, her body obeying Malfoy’s order. Her back arched and she bit her lip against the possibility of moaning Malfoy’s name.  She lessened the intensity of her stroking so she could ride out her orgasm. She wanted to feel his finger inside her, but she knew he wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear the disappointment of trying to finger herself, so she simply touched her clit gently until the shock waves subsided. Finally, her body relaxed and she gave a sigh of satisfaction, slowing her breathing.

Without moving from his position on the floor, Draco issued another command: “Lick your hand clean.”

Hermione’s eyes flew open and she looked at Malfoy with exasperation. Hermione had tasted herself before, out of curiosity, but it had never been particularly thrilling. He did not speak, but his expression discouraged disobedience. What had she to lose at this point? She brought her drenched fingers to her lips and sucked on them gently until they were clean, imagining they were Malfoy’s fingers or cock instead.

Draco smirked and went to gather his things. When he came back to the side of the sofa, Granger was dressed again and was putting her shoes back on. He held out a small parcel to her and smirked enigmatically as she took it from him after hesitating.

“What’s this?” Her senses were beginning to return to her and she was suspicious.

“Your new uniform.” The smirk widened. “You’ve proven yourself worthy to wear the colors.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow and opened the parcel. Inside was a green silk bra and knickers with silver edging. Hermione’s draw nearly dropped. He could _not_ be serious.

“You will wear those,” Draco indicated the lingerie, “for every lesson. They will take place here unless I say otherwise. I will notify you by owl. And you will not wear red and gold unless you’re in your school uniform.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, incensed at his presumption, but he silenced her with a look. How did he always manage to _do_ that?

Without so much as a backward glance, Draco quit the room. He returned straight to the Slytherin dungeons to find the nearest willing Fifth Year slut to siphon off some of his passion for Granger.

Hermione rolled her eyes and hid the lingerie carefully at the bottom of her school bag. At the last minute, she remembered the silver ribbon in her hair. She scowled and pulled it out. It would not do for anyone to see that. As soon as she had all of her things, she made her way back towards Gryffindor Tower. It was late and she still needed to clean herself up a bit before bed. She did not feel guilty. She did not regret what she had done. She hoped she would still feel that way in the morning.


	6. X-Factors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Hermione received an owl at breakfast on Tuesday morning stating that her second “lesson” would be held on Thursday evening. This worked out perfectly for her because the Gryffindor team had Quidditch practice at that time. No doubt Malfoy had some knowledge of the other teams’ practice schedules, and had his own team practice on different nights, so it would be convenient for him as well.

Though she did not look over at him after reading the letter, Hermione was sure Malfoy was watching her. It felt to her as if it must be obvious to everyone that something was going on between them, though logically there was really no indication. Ron looked at the letter curiously as she read it, but did not dare to ask about it, as they were still on shaky ground about what he had said to her at dinner on Sunday.

“Another letter?” Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Yes, it’s—” Hermione cast a quick burning spell nonverbally and the letter was turned to ash in a matter of seconds, “it’s from my parents. They check in a lot lately, with Voldemort still at large and Dumbledore… gone.”

“So you burn them so they won’t give your parents away?” Ginny tried to sound casual, not quite believing Hermione’s story.

“Hm?” Hermione looked distracted. “Oh! Yes, exactly.”

Ginny did not pursue the subject.

*****

Waiting for Thursday evening to come was almost unbearable for Hermione. While she doubted that Malfoy would go very far with her during this next lesson, she still longed to be alone with him, whispered to, touched by him. While she still did not regret or feel guilty about what she had done so far, she was slightly ashamed of herself for being so hopelessly unable to resist him. The fact that him calling her a mudblood didn’t bother her was a bit unsettling. She cautioned herself against becoming too reliant on him: she was glad the Order had taken him in, but she still didn’t trust him.

Hermione managed to get through the next three days of lessons without spending too much time daydreaming about Malfoy. She forced herself to get the week’s homework done before bed on Wednesday so that she could fully enjoy her time with him on Thursday. Well, she’d be less distracted, in any case: fully enjoying herself was difficult between being nervous and inexperienced and being afraid that this was all an elaborate joke.

At dinner on Thursday, Ron didn’t even ask what she planned on doing while they were at practice because she always spent that time studying; either in the library, the Common Room, or her bedroom. Anyone who could not find her in one of those places would assume she was in one of the other two, so no one would think she was up to something. Hermione tried not to be too depressed by the revelation that she spent so much time alone doing things that no one was interested anyway, so no one would think it was strange for her not to be around.

Ginny was equally silent on the matter, though Hermione’s nervous fidgeting did not go unnoticed by her. With Harry gone, Ginny wondered if Hermione was lacking a friend to talk to. Sure, Ron was Hermione’s friend, but he wasn’t all that perceptive about when people needed help. Ginny resolved to keep an eye on this.

Hermione arrived outside the Room of Requirement at 8:00, as she had been instructed to in Tuesday’s letter. She could see no doorknob or outline of a door from the place she knew it should be, but she knocked on the wall there anyway. After a moment, a door-sized portion of the wall opened inward, and Malfoy ushered her inside wordlessly.

Draco had pushed the sofa off to the side of the room so that he could lie on the carpet and enjoy the fire. He had taken his shirt off so that he could soak in the heat of the fire and feel the carpet against his skin. He wore only his black uniform slacks: his shoes and socks, robe, shirt, and tie, etc., lay in a pile on the sofa. His skin was warm and slightly flushed from the twenty minutes he’d spent in front of the fireplace.

As soon as he’d let Hermione in, Malfoy returned to his place on the carpet by the fire, sitting in front of it with his arms on his knees, staring into it. He did not speak to her. He seemed to be in a brooding mood, laconic and unsmiling. But he looked over at her when she hesitated by the door as if to ask what she was waiting for, so she took off her shoes, socks, and jumper so that she wore only her uniform skirt, shirt, and tie. She had taken her robe off before dinner but hadn’t had time to change fully.

The enormous carpet felt wonderful on her bare feet as she walked over to the fire. She sat a few feet away from Malfoy, to his side and slightly farther away from the fire, waiting for him to speak. As she waited, she looked him over quietly.

This was the first time Hermione could remember seeing Malfoy not wearing a shirt or robes that went to his wrists. The sight of his bare arms, lean yet well-toned, would have been unsettling enough, but seeing him completely bare-chested was breathtaking. He really was attractive, even if his features were often marred by an evil smirk or a scowl. He had recovered some of his health over the summer and the beginning of the school year, and the tired, care-worn boy she remembered from the previous year was almost gone.

Hermione gazed at Malfoy’s chest unabashedly, taking in every inch of skin and muscle, wondering what it would feel like to press her bare chest against his. It looked so warm at that moment, and inviting. She had never really touched him, except to kiss him. Not his bare skin, anyway. It would be an act of vulnerability, she thought, rather than sexuality. Malfoy probably wouldn’t like that. Hermione could not detach her feelings from her desires so easily. She wanted to touch Malfoy in ways that had nothing to do with sex. But that wasn’t what she was here for, and she needed to stop overanalyzing and focus on that fact.

Draco noticed her staring and looked over at her. He smirked at the expression on Granger’s face and silently motioned for her to sit on his right side. When she had settled next to him, his smirk slipped away and he went back to staring into the fire.

He did not put an arm around her or lean against her, but Hermione’s stomach quaked from her close proximity to his bare skin. She did not touch him. He seemed to be in a dark mood already, and she wasn’t stupid enough to rely on the fact that he’d said before that he didn’t want to hurt her.

After a few more moments of sitting in silence, Malfoy looked over at her and rolled his eyes, noting how frizzy her hair was. It was always the wildest at the end of the day, when the effects of brushing and hair potions had been exhausted. Without saying a word (and it was uncharacteristic of him to miss an opportunity for a snide remark), Malfoy reached his left hand out to stroke Hermione’s unruly hair into submission. As he did so, however, she glanced at his arm, gasped, and pulled away slightly.

Draco was confused for a moment, until he saw what Granger was looking at: his Dark Mark, a faded red scar, like an intricate birthmark, spanning almost the entirety of the inside of his left forearm. Defiantly, he finished taming her hair, then looked at her, raising an elegant eyebrow as if to challenge her to comment.

“Does it frighten you, Granger?” Draco asked in a low voice. “Are you afraid that I’m a bad man? I’ve hurt people,” he said matter-of-factly.

“No…” Hermione whispered, covering his left hand with her right and stopping him from withdrawing it. “I’m not frightened of you.”

And strangely, it was true. When she saw the Dark Mark on Malfoy, it did not inspire the fear it might have if she had seen it on someone else. Instead, Hermione felt pity. Pity for him because he had always been taught to hate, because he had been punished for his father’s failings, because he had been threatened with death for both himself and his mother if he did not do as Voldemort commanded. Hermione knew that Malfoy was by no means a saint, but he had not killed Dumbledore, or anyone that she knew of, and that meant he was also not entirely evil.

Draco could not read the expression on the girl’s face as she held his hand in her comparatively minute one. She was staring at him, thinking hard. Her eyes were sad, but the gaze was also somehow sensual, very personal and penetrating. It was so intense that he had to struggle not to look away. Then Granger did the last thing Draco would ever have expected her to do: she brought his arm to her lips and kissed it, on the Dark Mark, right on the head of the snake that formed the grotesque skull’s tongue. He was shocked, so much so that he did not move his arm away or ask her what she was doing.

Hermione kissed the warm skin of his arm again, slowly, reverently, sympathetically. Not out of respect for the Mark or what it stood for, but in acknowledgment of his suffering, to show that she knew what he was and what he had done and still felt he deserved forgiveness. She kissed each of the skull’s empty eyes in turn, its toothy mouth, every inch of the tattoo that could never be removed save perhaps after Voldemort’s death.

Draco was unnerved. He did not like the depth of this gesture and the unflappable courage and compassion Granger was exhibiting. He did not need her to forgive him, to pity him! She kissed his arm as if she could make the Mark disappear by the sheer power of her acceptance of him. It was somehow chaste and sexual at the same time. Sexual in a way that Draco was not comfortable with, which required him to be vulnerable. All he could do was stare at the girl who seemed to be trying to heal him with a blessing from her lips like an angel.Like a mother making a child’s scrape “all better” with a kiss. How could she even presume to try to erase everything that Mark had cost him?

He wanted to yell at her to stop, to get her dirty lips off of his skin and get out of his sight. He didn’t want her condescending kisses, making him feel like he wasn’t worthy of them, like she was better than him. She made him feel naked, and he hated it. And he hated that he couldn’t make himself hate _her_ , too. It used to be so easy to hate her. He couldn’t move his arm away and he couldn’t move his other arm to push her away from him. He was paralyzed.

And then the kisses moved to the inside of his wrist, and Granger was no longer an angel but a living, breathing girl who was showing him that he was not her master anymore, not in this moment. She kissed and nipped at the extremely sensitive skin of Draco’s inner wrist and his eyes closed halfway in pleasure, his anger melting and fading. He wanted to explore the things that mouth was capable of.… She wrapped her lips around the place his pulse was most easily felt and suckled gently, the heat from her mouth causing Draco to shiver in spite of himself. She had probably read about this in a book somewhere. She was too smart for her own good.

This, at least, was something Draco could handle. He wasn’t quite used to Granger’s sudden sexual forwardness, nor had he forgotten the frightening intimacy of the last few moments, but at least she was communicating with his body again, not trying to speak to his heart or soul or whatever was in there.

Not wanting to allow Granger to feel that she had upset the balance of power between them, Draco suddenly snatched his wrist away from the girl, pushed her down onto the carpet and moved to hover over her pinned form in one fluid movement.

“I hope for your sake that you learned that from a book, Granger,” Malfoy snarled lowly, his face mere centimeters above Hermione’s, “because I won’t tolerate other people touching you.”

Hermione stifled a squeak of surprise as she was pinned to the soft carpet. Her momentary assertiveness was crushed by Malfoy reestablishing his control over her.

“I overheard one of the other students,” Hermione choked out, both excited and frightened at the same time. Malfoy seemed to be in a strange mood, and he was even more unpredictable than usual. If there was one thing Hermione feared, it was unpredictability.

“Am I to understand that you’re listening at doors now?” Malfoy asked warningly, toying with his prey mercilessly.

“It was an accident!” Hermione stammered desperately. “The other girls in the dormitory thought I was asleep when they were talking!”

Draco looked at Granger suspiciously, intimidating her for his own amusement. He did not actually believe that anyone else had been touching the Head Girl: the Gryffindors were generally oblivious to her attractiveness, she wouldn’t be interested in many Hufflepuffs, the Ravenclaws would probably have been warned by the girl who saw them together that she was involved with him somehow, and the Slytherins were too afraid of being labeled mudblood-lovers to look at her.

He did not tell her he believed her, but he rolled off of her, so that he was lying on his side next to her with his head propped up on his right hand. She slowly turned on her side so that she was facing him, mirroring his pose. Draco reached out his left arm, ignoring Granger as she glanced at his tattoo again, and determinedly loosened and removed the girl’s tie, casting it aside. He then unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt so that the top of her cleavage was visible. He was pleased to note that a hint of green and silver could be glimpsed through the opening.

Hermione did not move as Malfoy altered her clothing. At least he wasn’t using magic this time. His unusually silent state was unsettling her. It made her feel like she ought to be able to get him to open up to her, but at the same time he seemed almost dangerous. She wanted to remain distant from Malfoy, but it was so hard to keep emotion uninvolved when they were spending so much time alone together. Hermione had to admit that she might be beginning to feel a form of attachment to Malfoy, which was unfortunate and absurd because he was such a cruel prat.

“…Is something wrong?” Hermione finally asked timidly, when the silence was too much to bear.

Draco looked up at Granger, his eyes glinting in the firelight. He hoped she didn’t want to have a big emotional moment with him. He was used to girls falling for him. He had hoped that Granger hated him enough that that wouldn’t be a problem, but he was still prepared for the possibility. Part of him liked it, because it would mean that she would experience some of the torment he felt from his obsession with her. He didn’t want to answer, but he was the one who had summoned her here, and he didn’t want her to leave. He just hadn’t counted on being in such a foul mood while she was there.

“Everything’s wrong, Granger. You know that.” Malfoy shrugged dismissively. Hermione had to admit that it was a foolish question in light of everything that had been happening in the Wizarding world lately, not to mention everything that had happened to Malfoy personally. Hermione paused, not knowing how to proceed.

“I used to think that nothing would have made you happier than to see Voldemort in power again.” Hermione looked down at the carpet as she said this, part of her afraid that Malfoy would react badly if she tried to get him to talk about this, the other part burning to know all that Malfoy had gone through: what it was like to be a Death Eater, whether one could ever really reform. Hermione believed deeply in the ability of people to change their ways, but she had never seen much evidence of it actually happening.

Draco stared at Granger for a moment. He had indeed been talking about the Dark Lord being in power, but he hadn’t expected the girl to pursue the subject. It was a wonder that her curiosity hadn’t gotten her into any real trouble yet. He decided he would humor her, since he didn’t much feel like thinking of what else to do. It was all past, anyway. Technically he was on “her side” now. He would be honest.

“I really did want the Dark Lord to come back into power,” Draco continued without stopping for Hermione’s incredulous look, “but I would have preferred for my service to him to have been on my own terms.”

Hermione felt that his willingness to answer her questions was a sign that it was all right for her to keep the conversation going.

“But I thought… I mean, it seemed like you really wanted to follow him.”

“That’s because I really did. Why wouldn’t I? He stands for everything I believed in.”

Hermione was shocked, and was about to protest, when she noticed a nuance in Malfoy’s statement. “What do you mean, ‘believed’?”

“Allowing your followers to rot in Azkaban while you threaten to kill their wives and send their sons on suicide missions isn’t exactly what all purebloods think of as ideal leadership. Why would I want to follow a hypocritical halfblood? For all I know Dumbledore’s got more pure Wizarding blood than the Dark Lord.”

Draco’s lip curled up slightly as he said Dumbledore’s name, but he halted the sneer. He didn’t like that old bleeding heart muggle-lover any better now that he was dead, but a part of him was grateful that Dumbledore had talked Draco out of killing him. At the time, he had thought it was just to save his own naïve skin, but the old fool must have known that if Draco hadn’t done it, someone else would have. Then there must have been another reason for it. As little as Draco wanted to be thankful to Dumbledore for anything, the old man had talked him out of becoming a killer. Draco had to admit that he didn’t much care for the idea of committing cold-blooded murder. He had no desire to become a pale, sickly, snakelike thing like the Dark Lord.

Hermione held back her protests about the absurdity of the whole “pureblood” way of thinking and asked another question instead. “Why do you still call him the Dark Lord? Snape did that, too.”

“Habit, I suppose. As far as Snape goes, I have no idea whether or not he’s really loyal. Perhaps no one really knows.”

Hermione didn’t want to continue down this line of thought, because she would have to remember Snape killing Dumbledore, and she didn’t want to think about Dumbledore’s death. It was still too awful to contemplate for very long.

Draco noticed that Granger had gone silent and was staring intently at the carpet. He realized after a moment that he had reminded her of Dumbledore’s death, and she was probably about to start crying over it right in front of him. He had to say something.

“I never liked the stupid old git, but I’m glad I’m not the one who killed him.”

Hermione looked up at Malfoy with a confused expression, her eyes shining with half-formed tears. She did not know whether to smile or yell at him. He had almost said something nice. Finally, she wiped her eyes and said softly,

“I’m glad you weren’t the one, too.”


	7. Adjustment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Draco didn’t answer. It was a nice thing for her to have said, but he didn’t want to examine its depths at the moment. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He didn’t want to share his feelings or any of that bollocks. He hadn’t discussed his role as a Death Eater with anyone since he’d been questioned by the Order after his escape. He wasn’t sorry he had just told Granger about it; at least she wasn’t pressuring him for details. Maybe now that they’d gotten that out of the way they could get on with what they were supposed to be doing. After a long pause, he broke the silence.

“I see you’ve done as I told you,” Malfoy said, indicating the Slytherin-colored bra peeking out from the opening in Hermione’s shirt.

Hermione’s cheeks gained a pink tinge. She had almost forgotten what they were supposed to be here for. She had never really had a conversation with Malfoy before. It was very strange. Even stranger than the prospect of sex with him.

“Second lesson…” Draco said lowly as he motioned for Granger to sit up on her knees on the carpet. With an almost clinically detached swiftness, he expertly removed her skirt and shirt so that she was wearing only the Slytherin lingerie. She shivered and Draco noted with pleasure that he could see her hardened nipples poking through the green silk.

Hermione felt exposed and vulnerable, even though Malfoy had seen her like this during their previous “lesson.” Maybe because he wasn’t wearing a shirt either the mood felt more intimate. Or maybe it was because of the conversation they’d just shared. Their eyes raked over each other’s bodies, Hermione’s gaze shy but wanton, Malfoy’s confident and possessive. That possessiveness should have affronted Hermione, but instead it was arousing. She could tell he wanted her. That feeling was empowering. But how was she supposed to keep this on her own terms if her body was screaming at her to let him do whatever he wanted to her?

Draco moved closer to Granger so that they were sitting a few inches apart in front of the fire again. He placed his hand on her shoulder and firmly pressed her down onto her back on the carpet. His hand trembled slightly. He needed to shake off the uneasiness their conversation had induced. There was no reason to think anything of this: he had already kissed her, just like he’d kissed dozens of girls before her. He had done more than that. He willed his hand to stop shaking and it obeyed.

Hermione lay obediently on the luxurious carpet, wondering what Malfoy had in mind to “teach” her this time. She was still a little wary of his strange mood. She thought for a moment that maybe she ought to suggest that they try again some other time. But then his lips were on hers, kissing and biting roughly, causing them to redden. He was on top of her, pressing his chest against hers. She could feel the warmth of his skin on her stomach and through her bra. His hips were pressed against hers, too, and her bare legs slid against the fabric of his trousers. Hermione felt as though he might suffocate her with his ferocity, and also decided she might not care.

Draco broke the kiss reluctantly and shifted his weight onto his left hand, so his right one was free to cup each of Granger’s perfect breasts in turn. He had been waiting so long to touch her. He couldn’t believe he had been able to make himself wait this long. He let his thumb slide over her left nipple, and when she gasped and squirmed, he began to rub it roughly through the silk. He had watched her do the same to herself just a few days ago. How had he resisted pulling her to him the moment she entered the room? His woes were as nothing compared with the fact that Hermione Granger was his to touch whenever he pleased. As Granger writhed beneath him, he felt himself grow hard against her hips, and ground his erection mercilessly into her pelvic bone, wanting to be as hard as possible for what he was going to teach her next.

As warm tingles ran through her body and her stomach churned with excitement, Hermione couldn’t help but let out a small moan of pleasure. She had always enjoyed rubbing her nipples through cloth, but when Malfoy did it, somehow it felt different, even better. It made more of a difference than she would have thought when it was someone else doing the touching. And it wasn’t just anyone else: it was the boy whom no one would believe could ever want her. And he did want her. The erection he was grinding into her hips through their clothing was proof of that. He could have anyone, and he wanted her.

“Touch me,” Malfoy commanded, prying himself away from Hermione and moving to recline on the floor.He put his hands behind his head as if he could not have been more comfortable. For a moment, Hermione didn’t understand what he meant. She even reached a hand out to touch his chest, until he shook his head and gave her a significant look. She looked down at the evident mound in the fabric of his slacks and felt like an idiot.

“Do what I tell you,” Draco ordered more firmly. Granger’s inexperience and timidity were cute, but he wasn’t about to wait around all day for her to catch on and work up the nerve. She’d gotten him worked up and a fifth year slut wasn’t going to be enough to fix this. He didn’t want to go to them anymore, anyway. Granger was more than enough to please him. He just needed to show her how.

Hermione quickly nodded her assent, slowly moving her hand to cup it over Malfoy’s penis through the cloth. It felt strange. Hard, but in an organic way, and very warm. Awkwardly, she traced her fingers around the mound, then began gently rubbing it, having no idea what to do or how to do it. Perhaps she ought to have sent for some books on the matter to prepare herself for this…. But Malfoy had said he would teach her. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“…Am I doing it right at all?” Hermione asked quietly with a bit of embarrassment.

Draco had to force himself not to laugh. He nudged his hips upward, pressing himself into Granger’s hand. The poor girl really had no idea what she was doing, but the results weren’t bad. It felt all right. But it wasn’t enough.

“Take it out,” Malfoy instructed, and Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation at his lack of explanation. Swallowing in nervous anticipation, she gently unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, absurdly feeling almost afraid of the thing inside them. His erection was already poking through the hole in the front of his boxers, so she parted the fabric on either side until she had freed it. She paused for a moment, looking at it, disbelieving that she was seeing it, touching it, intimidated by its size. She didn’t know what she had expected, but she suddenly got the feeling that she might be in over her head.

“Lick me,” was the next command, and Hermione was a little taken aback. She knew about oral sex, and had fantasized about both giving and receiving it, but being faced with a real penis was quite a different feeling. Would it even fit in her mouth?

Sensing Granger’s hesitation, Draco growled impatiently. “Do you want to learn how to do this, or not?”

“Shut it,” Hermione said with a smirk, refusing to let him rush her. All his impatience indicated was that he really wanted her. He had made her wait for his touch and she still had yet to receive much of it; she would not let him rush her. She bent over to lower her head so that her lips were almost touching the tip of Malfoy’s cock. She had to put a hand around its base to steady it, and Malfoy breathed a quiet sound of satisfaction as she did so. Tentatively, she stuck her tongue out, and began licking the skin experimentally, alternating the strokes of her tongue with suckling kisses. She moved slowly and deliberately, trying to please him. If she was going to do something, she always tried to do it well!

Part of Draco wanted to laugh at Granger’s inexperienced fumblings, but another part was enjoying her warm, wet lips and tongue, and was aching for her to gain the courage to do more. She really must not have ever done this before, and he couldn’t expect her to know what to do purely on instinct.

“Suck me,” Malfoy growled, tangling a hand in Hermione’s hair and coaxing her closer to his cock. She parted her lips and slowly took the head of his penis into her mouth, wetting her lips repeatedly and sucking gently as she did so, trying to relax the muscles in her mouth and jaw so she could get more of him in. Malfoy’s grip on her hair tightened and he gently pushed her head down further, trying to get her to let him go as deeply as possible.

“Good girl,” Draco purred, reveling in how hot and wet Granger’s little mouth was. What he wouldn’t have given to see the look on Weasley’s or Potter’s faces if they saw their friend right now, crouched on her hands and knees with her ass in the air, wearing nothing but Slytherin silk, with her lips wrapped around his cock. It was too perfect.

“Now...” Malfoy continued authoritatively, “move your head slowly up and down, so I slide in and out.”

Hermione considered his instructions and did as she was told, experimentally lifting her head slightly away from Malfoy’s body and then pushing it back down again, so that he was moving in and out of her mouth. She had fantasized about having a cock in her mouth before, but this was so much different. She hadn’t realized it would be this big! She remembered her fantasy about Harry coming in her mouth. She remembered how the subject of the fantasy had transformed into Malfoy against her will. A warmth began to grow between her legs. This was very nearly a fantasy come true, and she felt an exhilarating sense of power. She could tell he was enjoying this.

Draco was very pleased with the speed at which Granger was learning. Soon she had established a slow rhythm that was pleasurable enough that Draco knew it could make him come if she could keep it up. Her mouth felt incredible, but it made him want to feel her pussy wrapped around him even more. He couldn’t have that yet, but he vowed that he would, and soon.

Hermione’s jaw began to ache and her neck was uncomfortable, but she obediently continued moving her head up and down, stroking her tongue along Malfoy’s length every now and then. She was determined to see this through on the first try. He was pushing his hips up into her mouth at the same time she went down, which got him so deep she nearly gagged. Her eyes watered, but she continued determinedly. She wanted to show Malfoy that she could be good at this, perhaps even good enough to make him come. But wait—didn’t that mean that it would get in her mouth? What was she supposed to do?

Draco was close. Granger was definitely getting the knack for this. Not bad for her first try, and she was certainly giving it her all. All of the anticipation had made him even more sensitive than usual as well. He thrust his hips up into her mouth mercilessly, promising himself that he would return the favor as soon as she swallowed every last drop of his cum. She had certainly earned it.

Hermione didn’t think she could take much more, but Malfoy began to stroke her hair soothingly, encouraging her to hold on.

“Almost there, darling,” Draco smiled to himself with his eyes closed, extremely satisfied with the situation. “When I come, don’t move,” he said sternly. “Just relax and swallow, and don’t let go until I say you can. Understand?”

Hermione nodded quickly, which was quite difficult to do with Malfoy’s sizable cock in her mouth. Then, without warning, Malfoy’s hips arched up sharply and she knew that he was coming. She was watching him have an orgasm, and she was making him do it. Warm, thick liquid poured into her mouth in spurts. Hermione obediently kept her lips firmly pressed around Malfoy’s cock, even in her surprise. The cum had a strange, almost salty taste, and an unusual texture. She didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Malfoy sighed in satisfaction and his body seemed to relax completely. “You can let go now, but keep your lips together and swallow.”

Hermione carefully pulled away, letting Malfoy’s penis slide from between her lips. She then took a deep breath and swallowed the contents of her mouth, repressing the urge to gag simply because it tasted and felt so strange. She felt very self-conscious, but also proud of herself.

Malfoy smiled lopsidedly and beckoned Hermione closer. “Lie down.”

Wet and excited, shivering in the skimpy silk lingerie, Hermione lay down on Malfoy’s left side on the soft carpet. After a quiet moment of recovery, he propped himself up on his left arm and leaned over her.

Draco was immensely pleased. Granger had done well for a first try, and he felt that she would only get better with time. Her mouth had been so deliciously hot and wet, and she had been so eager to please him that she’d let him thrust into it to his heart’s content. He’d gotten the Head Girl to suck him off and swallow his cum. This just might be the best day of his life. And now he would show her what she earned through her diligence.

Hermione felt herself become instantly wetter as Malfoy’s fingers slipped into the green silk knickers, touching her without any barrier for the first time. He had not asked her if he could do it or told her he was going to. Somehow that made it more arousing. It felt so strange for someone else’s fingers to be stroking her clit, rubbing her wetness over every inch of sensitive skin. It was absolutely amazing. She wanted to scream in pleasure, to buck her hips up against Malfoy’s hand and rub against it till she came, but she controlled herself. If he decided to stop touching her, she didn’t think she could bear the disappointment

“So wet,” Draco observed with a smirk, relishing the feeling of Granger’s soaked pussy beneath his fingers. “Sucking me off did this to you, didn’t it?”

Hermione squirmed and squeezed her eyes closed, nodding in answer to the question. She felt as though she would tell him anything as long as he didn’t stop touching her.

Draco stroked his middle finger up across Granger’s slick, rock-hard little clit and felt the beginnings of another erection stir as she emitted little gasps and moans. She had reacted beautifully when he’d merely spoken dirty words to her, and now that he was touching her she was already moaning and panting and rocking her hips against his hand. How much more deliciously would she react when he finally fingered her, licked her, fucked her?

It felt so good to have Malfoy touching her. He knew exactly where everything was, what felt good, and how to tease her. Hermione didn’t want to think about all of the other girls Malfoy had touched like this so that he was intimately familiar with female anatomy, but if that experience was what made him this good, it didn’t bother her too much right now. All she knew was she never wanted him to stop.

Draco’s wrist began to hurt from the constriction of the lingerie, and he growled and roughly ripped the sides of the delicate silk until he was able to pull the knickers away from Granger’s body. They could be repaired later. He looked over the dark brown curls that protected the button of flesh he was rubbing with his finger and the hole that lay below it, opening slightly in invitation. Draco realized that he hadn’t seen Granger naked yet, and suddenly became very irritated at the fact that she was still wearing the green silk bra. This prompted him to look up at her breasts.

What he found there was that while he was preoccupied with her knickers, Granger had begun to rub her pebbled nipples feverishly through her bra, as he’d seen her do during their last lesson. The sight was very erotic, even more so because it had taken him by surprise, but that did not make Draco any less annoyed with the bra. He pushed Granger’s hands away gently and tore the straps and side until he could remove that as well.

Hermione suddenly found herself completely exposed to the lustful gaze of Draco Malfoy. She was a very private person, and very few people had seen her naked. These people included her parents, who hadn’t seen her naked since she was a little girl, and Ginny, who was the only other girl she had consented to take baths with or change her clothes around since puberty. Such bathing sessions became problematic for Hermione after her fantasies began to include Ginny and she had put a stop to them a few years previously.

Her fantasies were nothing to what she experienced at this moment. Being completely naked in front of Malfoy, seeing the look of hunger in his eyes, made Hermione feel sexier than she ever had in her life. Not a single person had ever looked at her in this way before. He had given her a great gift. And he was about to give her another one: the first orgasm she had ever received at the hands of another human being. Malfoy hadn’t even paused in his stroking of her clit as he removed her clothing and she became more and more sensitive with each movement of his finger.

Draco looked over Granger’s naked form appraisingly. He had already known she had a great body; he could tell that even before he saw her in just lingerie, but it was still something special to see her completely bare. He imagined that very few people had ever had the pleasure of this sight. She was indescribably sexy at that moment. He had to admit that she exceeded even his fantasies on that score. It was time to make the gorgeous little thing come like she’d never come before. Draco bent his head down and pressed his lips over Hermione’s right nipple, licking and sucking on it gently as he increased the pace of his finger on her clit. She gasped and lifted her hips in response, flushed all over.

Hermione was conflicted: she wanted this to last forever and she knew it was almost over. Malfoy’s mouth on her nipple felt incredible. Her clit was so sensitive she could hardly bear it. It was so hard and she was so wet that she was afraid she would leave stains on the beautiful carpet. But all care was soon washed away. She bucked her hips up and arched her back as an orgasm so alike yet so much more intense than any she had ever experienced rocked her to the core. She screamed something incomprehensible before collapsing back onto the floor, but Malfoy wasn’t quite finished with her yet.

“That’s it,” whispered Draco as he let go of Granger’s nipple and removed his finger from her clit. “Just a bit more.”

He could tell that she had expected him to pull away, but instead he slipped his finger from her clit smoothly into her drenched entrance. It clenched gently around the finger as the aftershocks went through Granger’s body. Draco relished how tight and smooth she was inside, suppressing the urge to take her at that very moment and damn the consequences. Expertly finding the spot he was looking for, he pressed on it with the tip of his finger.

Hermione gasped as Malfoy’s finger entered her. Since she’d been loathe to use toys or magic in pleasuring herself, it was easily the biggest thing that had ever been inside of her. It felt amazing, even before he hit the spot that made her legs quake and sent waves of pleasure up through her spine.

She was so tight, and hot, and wet, and inviting that if Draco hadn’t already come he thought he would not have been able to resist her. Every muscle in her body was trembling with pleasure and he was still in awe of the fact that he was the first person to do this to her: to gaze on her naked form through the eyes of desire, to touch her, to make her come, to be inside of her in some form. It pleased him that he was the first, and that every other sexual experience she might have in the future would be measured against the ones she had with him.

She was trembling, gasping, almost screaming now, making noises no one who knew her would ever have expected could leave her lips. Draco didn’t want to stop, but he could see that she was getting worn out: her cries were more strained, her body almost shuddering with overstimulation. He thrust his finger into her one last time and reluctantly pulled it out as slowly and gently as possible. He watched her for a few moments while she caught her breath, eyes closed.

“There,” he said in a voice that was husky with lust and disuse. “And all you had to do was do exactly what I said.”

Hermione looked up at Malfoy, her senses coming back to her slowly. She knew that in a few minutes she would probably feel properly ashamed of what had just happened. They were quickly moving past the realm of relatively harmless play and racing towards the point of no return. Why wasn’t she more upset about all of this? How did he always get her to give in so easily?

She took a deep breath and composed herself. She sat up and gazed down upon Malfoy’s reclining half-form without any sense of shame. It was hard to be angry or embarrassed after such an amazing orgasm. He smirked under her gaze and buttoned his trousers.

“What time is it?” Hermione asked him, unreasonably worried that their interlude had lasted for many hours. Time passed so strangely when she was with him.

Draco smirked as he watched Granger slowly come to her senses. He felt very powerful being the person who could shut that brain off. He snatched up the fragments of her knickers and bra and idly repaired them so that when Granger turned around to look at him again, he was holding them out to her nonchalantly.

“Ten o’clock,” Draco said unconcernedly, looking her up and down.

Hermione flushed slightly as she realized she was still naked. She wasn’t as embarrassed as she thought she ought to be, but it was still a bit unnerving to be naked in front of him. She snatched her underwear away from him and began to dress herself. Eventually she managed to find the rest of her clothing, and when she was finally completely dressed again, she turned back to look at Malfoy, who was still standing, just watching her. He hadn’t even bothered to put his shirt back on yet.

“Well… Goodnight, then,” Hermione said awkwardly. What do you say after what they’d just done?

“I’ll send an owl about next time,” said Draco smoothly with a grin as he caught Granger staring at his chest again.

“Great.” Hermione nodded quickly, stood there for a moment in indecision, and then left the room without another word.

Draco smirked to himself and picked up his shirt, pulling it over himself and buttoning it haphazardly. He could still smell her on his hand, and the image of her lying naked beneath him played over and over in his head. But there was plenty of time for that. He would make sure that she knew enough going into it that by the time he did take her she’d know how to please him properly, and be pleased enough that she would keep coming back until he was sick of her.


	8. Evaluation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Hermione barely made it back to Gryffindor Tower without being caught. She’d have to speak to Malfoy about making sure that they were done before curfew in the future. As if he’d listen.

As Hermione changed into her pajamas and crawled beneath the blankets, images of the evening danced to the forefront of her mind. Not just memories of everything they had done, but also of their conversation. Hermione remembered the Dark Mark etched into Malfoy’s skin. His honesty had been… sobering. Refreshing, even. He’d admitted to following Voldemort, to being a Death Eater, to hating blood-traitors and Muggle-borns.

Yet, he had fled Voldemort. Not out of fear: he would have been honored above all others for helping bring about the death of Dumbledore. No, it had been out of disgust at the way Voldemort had treated his family.

Hermione had mixed feelings about this change in Malfoy. It was wonderful that a Death Eater raised in a pureblood household could leave Voldemort’s service and try to start his life anew. However, that did not necessarily make Malfoy a good person. He was still an arrogant git at the best of times. He was not kind or even indifferent to those he was once openly antagonistic towards, despite the fact that they were all on the same side now. By all accounts, not much had changed in his manner or attitude.

Still, something was different. There was a sort of dangerous attractiveness about him now. Hermione had felt drawn to him from the moment that he had cornered her in the hallway and said that she “belonged to him.” Surely she had never looked at him except with loathing before that moment. Sometimes Malfoy seemed almost affectionate in his possessiveness of her when he was appraising her appearance or performance in their “lessons.” He still occasionally called her “Mudblood” and said all sorts of cruel things, but the venom behind the words seemed to have been diminished. Yet she was wary. He was like some sort of jungle cat that had been raised by humans: beautiful, regal, even playful and affectionate at times, but liable to unleash the beast within without warning.

And then there was that sort of sadness that had surfaced tonight. Perhaps it was regret for the things he had done and the situation his family was now in. Or maybe she was reading too much into everything like she always did. It was just so hard to be with him _like that_ and have no real idea who he was.

He was… more _real_ to her now.  More human. That would have been wonderful if circumstances were different. The more Hermione understood Malfoy, the easier it was to get closer to him. She was already too close as it was. She hadn’t counted on him becoming someone she could feel sorry for… someone she might even be able to like.

But she still needed to see him. Being with him felt too good. She felt more relaxed now than she had in a long time. She knew that if she had any chance of feeling that way again, she would seek it. Even if that meant putting her head in the tiger’s mouth.

*****

Draco’s sleep came easily that night for the first time in weeks, and he awoke early on Friday morning. He lay in bed for a few minutes reliving the details of the previous night. He had gotten Hermione Granger, the Head Girl, to give him head, to be naked before him, to let him stroke her clit her until she came. Things could not have gone better, except for the first part of the evening.

He needed to be careful about letting her get too close. He certainly didn’t want her to feel sorry for him, and he didn’t need her feelings mucking everything up. Why couldn’t a witch just go on hating a bloke after he seduced her? There really was no justice in this world! He’d just have to tone his brooding down a bit when she was around.

But it would not be easy this morning. As he sat up his left arm grazed the curtains surrounding his bed and he winced. It _hurt_. He glanced down through the semidarkness and examined his Dark Mark. The red had deepened overnight. The design was clearer. The Dark Lord was feeling particularly powerful or vengeful today. Most of the time, as in the previous evening, the Mark was nothing more than a faded scar, and caused him no pain. But on certain days it became more pronounced and began to burn. Draco could usually ignore it, but he always bore a lingering fear that it might turn black again, and that he would be compelled to return to the Dark Lord and to his own doom.

He swallowed and shook himself. He needed to put this out of his mind. Thankful for the long-sleeved shirt and robes of his school uniform, Draco pulled the curtains back and began to get dressed. As he gathered his school things and left the Slytherin Common Room, he attempted to cheer himself with the thought that his first class was N.E.W.T.-level Potions with his favorite Gryffindor.

*****

This was the worst Potions lesson Hermione could remember. Blaise Zabini was absent, so Malfoy did not have a partner, and Professor Slughorn jovially suggested that he should join her and Ron’s group. As they began their project—the potion for dreamless sleep that Harry had been given after Cedric’s death—it became clear to Hermione that Malfoy was no longer content with toying with her in private.

He found every excuse he could to touch her without being noticed. When Ron looked away, Malfoy would step close to Hermione and place a hand on her thigh, but when Ron looked back he was ordering Hermione around and making snide remarks as usual. Hermione was mortified that someone would notice what he was doing, especially Ron. Luckily, Ron was even more imperceptive than usual because he was bitter about having to work with Malfoy. He was also frustrated about the fact that he didn’t understand the potion directions and Hermione was too distracted to be very helpful.

When Ron went to the store cupboards to get some supplies for their potion, Hermione turned to Malfoy and hissed as quietly as she could, “What are you playing at?! Someone will see!”

“See what?” Draco whispered as he snaked his hand down Granger’s side. He smirked when she shivered involuntarily.

“We have a contract, remember?” Hermione warned as she fought her body’s reactions to his touch.

“Granger,” Draco rolled his eyes and let his hand graze her ass stealthily. “Even if someone saw, they wouldn’t believe it.”

Hermione gave Malfoy a look of deepest loathing and pulled away from him, staring at her potions book determinedly and taking some of the ingredients Ron handed her. She did not do so much as look at Malfoy for the rest of the lesson.

Unwilling to admit he’d done anything wrong, Draco decided that he was perfectly content to let Granger and Weasley finish the potion, and spent the rest of the period doodling lewd pictures in the corners of his textbook. When the lesson was finally over, Slughorn and the rest of the class filed out and headed for the Great Hall where lunch was waiting. Draco hung back while Granger packed up her things.

“Go on without me,” Hermione said to Ron, sensing that he was eager to get to lunch. She faked a smile when he hesitated. “I’ll catch you up after I’ve put everything away.”

Ron looked at Malfoy, then back at Hermione, but simply nodded and left the room.

“I see that Weasley’s as useless as ever,” commented Draco casually as he packed up his textbook.

“I don’t want to speak with you,” said Hermione, putting a stopper back in a vial of powdered unicorn horn a little more forcefully than was necessary.

“It was a joke,” said Draco, comprehending the reason for her anger, but trying to appear unfazed. “Don’t Muggles know about humor?”

Hermione’s face flushed in anger and disbelief. Her eyes locked on his, iced with cold fury. “I am _painfully_ aware that I’m not good enough for you,  Malfoy. You’ve reminded me of that fact almost daily for over six years now.”

Draco began to protest, but she kept talking, her voice growing louder as she spoke.

“Yet you can’t seem to keep your hands off me! So what exactly are we doing?” She had finished packing up and was now leaning against the high table, glaring at him. “Am I good enough, or am I not? Do you want me, or is all of this your idea of a joke? Am I a dirty Mudblood who isn’t fit to be touched by you? It certainly didn’t seem that way last night!”

She laughed bitterly, almost hysterical by this point. Draco was dumbstruck, but forced himself to recover.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said with a forced smirk. “You know I wasn’t being serious.”

“How do I know that? How do I know if anything you say is true?” Her voice was like ice.

Her words stung more than Draco cared to admit, and his face hardened. “I never asked you to trust me.”

“No,” Hermione replied, her face a mask, “I suppose you didn’t.”

She had known all along what the terms of their arrangement were. Yet the more she felt the truth of his attraction towards her in his touch, the more she despised his biting remarks about her heritage and inferiority. The lie of it. If any part of him ever told the truth, it was his body. Hers couldn’t lie, either. But that didn’t mean that he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. If he refused to understand that, she would end all of this herself.

Draco wanted to get her into a better mood, but he didn’t know how to do that without touching her. There probably wasn’t much chance of that now. Still, it was worth a try… “Any chance of you skiving off lessons to come to the Room of Requirement with me?”

Hermione considered him for a moment, then smirked. “Not even if you begged me.”

With that, she picked up her things and left the room before Malfoy could respond.

*****

“Wha’ took so long?” asked Ron through a mouthful of potatoes as Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table for lunch.

“There were a lot of things to clean up and Malfoy didn’t help,” Hermione rolled her eyes and tucked into a plate of rosemary potatoes, parsnips, and sausages voraciously.

“Why did he stay then?” asked Ginny, her interest piqued.

“Dunno.” Hermione shrugged and stabbed the nearest piece of potato with her fork, imagining it was Malfoy’s hand, or better yet, his—

“He didn’t give you a bad time, did he, ’Mione?” Ron glared in the direction of the Slytherin table, which Malfoy had joined a few minutes previously.

“No,” she smirked, remembering their conversation. “He was just his usual, charming self.”

Ginny thought the sarcasm dripping from Hermione’s words could have eaten a hole through the table. Malfoy must have said something really foul. At least Hermione could laugh it off a bit. It was nice to see her friend reacting with irritation rather than hurt for a change.

“Well,” Ron swallowed a tremendous mouthful of sausage and washed it down with some pumpkin juice, “if he gives you trouble again, Hermione, let me know and I’ll hex his nose off for you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes again and wiped her mouth with her napkin politely. “As chivalrous as that offer is, Ron, I’m of age now and I _think_ I can take care of myself, thanks.”

Good Lord. Malfoy’s arrogance was preferable to Ron’s misplaced nobility any day. Hermione glared at her plate of sausages and continued to eat in silence.

“Since when have you been able to hex anyone’s nose off, Ron?” Ginny asked most unhelpfully. Hermione had to hide her smile behind her napkin.

“Shut it, Gin,” Ron said, now quite as grumpy as Hermione.

As soon as Hermione’s plate was clean, she stood up and pulled her bookbag over her shoulder. “I’m going to the library before Arithmancy. See you two at dinner?”

“Quidditch,” Ron and Ginny said simultaneously. Ginny’s was slightly more apologetic than Ron’s.

“Right. See you later, then.” Hermione smiled half-heartedly and walked out of the hall.

“Honestly, I can’t say anything right around her lately,” Ron grumbled. “What in the name of Merlin’s pants am I doing wrong?”

“Ron, you really are thicker than week-old treacle,” Ginny said with a sigh.

*****

Despite Hermione’s irritation with Malfoy, she knew a bit of yelling would not dissuade him. She had refused to skive off to be with him to (hopefully) teach him the lesson that he couldn’t have her whenever he wanted to. But she knew whatever he learned from that would not keep him away for long. She also knew she would not be able to resist him the next time he asked her to meet with him.

And that next time had been that very evening, though Hermione had not expected it would be so soon. Maybe Malfoy was trying to make a point, or maybe he was just trying to take advantage of the Gryffindor Quidditch practice schedule. Whatever the reason, she had met him in the Room of Requirement and they had both acted as if they had never argued. He was perhaps a bit less selfish, encouraging her to become more involved, but perhaps that was the way he had wanted the lessons to progress all along. They did not do much they hadn’t done before. Even he must have known it was too soon.

When they were done, they went their separate ways, and everything was the same as always. And that was how they moved through the rest of September and October. Every few days there was an owl at breakfast, or a note slipped in one of her textbooks when she wasn’t looking, or an agreement about when and where they would meet next. Usually they went to the Room of Requirement, but sometimes he managed to steal her away for a few unplanned moments in the corner of an empty classroom, a dark corridor, or even out on the grounds.

Fall at Hogwarts for Hermione was unnaturally normal considering the War, Harry being gone, and her illicit interludes with Malfoy. She still managed to get all of her assignments completed on time and was doing very well on her N.E.W.T. work. She could only assume that Malfoy was doing just as well.

He certainly hadn’t shirked his Quidditch duties, because Slytherin flattened Gryffindor in their first match against each other a week before Halloween. Harry would have been mortified if he had seen it. Hermione tried to gloss over the match when she wrote to him. Letters from Harry were few and far between, and she didn’t want the next one she received to be full of slurs about the Slytherins. Especially not now that she was secretly seeing their captain. Harry had more important things to worry about anyway.… Ginny took the loss hardest of all because she was playing seeker this year. All of them knew, but couldn’t bring themselves to say it: Ginny was a good seeker, but she wasn’t Harry.

Malfoy was insufferably full of himself for a full two weeks after Slytherin won the match. He had caught the snitch after practically knocking Ginny off her broom, and it was a week after the match before Hermione would acknowledge his presence. But he won her back on Halloween by pulling her into a broom cupboard after the feast. He always found a way to make her come round again.

*****

As November began, Draco decided that he had waited long enough. He had given her enough time. They had argued more than once, and she had kept coming back. He had taught her everything he could think of up to this point, and had made her practice relentlessly. He had rewarded her when she had done well. She had no reason to complain. She had to be ready by now.

*****

One rainy Thursday afternoon in November of no particular significance, Hermione was on her way to the library to get a bit of studying in before dinner. Just as she reached the door to the library, however, a hand grabbed her arm from behind and pulled her back against a hard chest. She gasped in surprise, but as she inhaled, she calmed herself down and sighed in exasperation. She had memorized his smell long ago.

“Malfoy, you might try just calling my name next time you need my attention,” she turned around and found herself facing his chest. She looked up.

“That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun,” he smirked, a hint of playfulness in his eyes.

“What do you want? I’ve got homework to do.”

“Come to me straight after lessons tomorrow. I’ll get us some food. I want to be sure we have enough time.” His face was utterly unreadable, but he held her close to him as he whispered.

“Enough time for what?” Hermione was confused and irritated with his games.

“Don’t be daft, Granger.” He gave her a significant look.

“…Oh.” Hermione’s eyes widened. Comprehension dawned. “Oh! …All right.”

“All right,” he echoed, and let her go. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Hermione whispered. And he was gone.


	9. Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Hermione’s hand trembled as she knocked on the invisible door to the Room of Requirement. She swallowed and breathed deeply, forcing herself to calm down. Ron and Ginny were at Quidditch practice again: their big match with Ravenclaw was coming up. No one would notice that she wasn’t at dinner. It was Friday and everyone would be enjoying a bit of free time.

Malfoy opened the door and welcomed in her wordlessly. His face was nearly expressionless. The fire in the hearth was roaring and the room was consequently warmer than usual. It was quite cozy, Hermione decided. There was one change to the room: a low table sat in front of the sofa by the fire, and on it was laid dinner for the two of them. Not in any formal sort of way. More like a picnic, with half a chicken, rolls, asparagus, and pumpkin juice.

Draco had known how to get to the Hogwarts kitchens since he was fourteen, and was very glad of that now. The house elves had been more than happy to oblige his dinner request. Even Dobby had been civil. Now Draco would have Granger to himself for the entirety of the evening.

“Come and eat,” he said as he sat down on the sofa, picking up one of the already buttered rolls and taking a bite.

Hermione set her school bag down by the door and kicked off her shoes and stockings before striding over to sit next to Malfoy on the sofa. Remembering the things they’d done on those very cushions made the corners of her mouth turn up in a slight smile.

Draco looked over at her curiously. “What’s so funny, then?”

Hermione’s smile spread as she served herself some chicken. “Oh, nothing. I was just remembering that thing we did a few weeks ago….”

Her voice had a mischievous edge that Draco found very appealing. It was not often that she would talk openly with him about their “lessons” without becoming embarrassed.

“Ah yes,” Draco smirked. “That was very nearly worth getting detention from Filch for being caught out of bed.”

In fact, there was no question in Draco’s mind that it had been worth it. He and Granger had lain naked end-to-end on that sofa for what seemed like hours. He had told her that she would learn a very important lesson that night, which every student ought to know: you get out of your education what you put into it. For every stroke of her tongue, every suckling kiss, every time she took him into her mouth, Granger had received an equal reward. And though she was the first to come after his tongue had returned every ounce of pleasure he had received, the way her mouth moved desperately around his cock as she rode out her orgasm was what finally pushed him over the edge, too. This remembrance did not make it easier for him to wait patiently for what was to come.

Hermione giggled and felt very smug about the fact that she, unlike Malfoy, had not been caught. A slight blush tinged her cheeks as the silence of pleasant remembrance stretched between them. And after tonight, she thought, there would be so many more memories.

Hermione picked up her fork and began to eat her chicken. She realized that this was the first time she had ever shared a meal with Malfoy. She was not sure how she felt about that.

“How is it?” Draco asked, feeling obligated to make some sort of conversation.

Hermione swallowed, took a sip of pumpkin juice, then answered. “Good.” She smiled and wiped her lips with a napkin politely.

Draco ate his chicken with the impeccable table manners that a boy of his breeding observed without thought. He was pleasantly surprised to note that Granger had excellent manners as well, and berated himself for focusing on such things at a time like this. What did it matter if she held her knife and fork properly? He was here to shag her, not take her to a formal dinner.

Hermione felt self-conscious as she noticed how gracefully Malfoy ate his food. She had always been aware of their class differences, but she had not thought about the fact that the wizarding gentry would probably be raised to a certain standard of social decorum. It was these little things that helped to establish the insurmountable dissimilarities between the two of them in Hermione’s mind, even when she could pretend they were not so different when they were alone together.

Draco finished his meal and sat back against the arm of the sofa, waiting patiently for Granger to finish hers. It was almost here. That moment he had been waiting months for. He was finally going to make her his.

Hermione placed her napkin next to her plate and sat back as well, facing Malfoy and looking at him uncertainly. What would happen next? Would they start out like they always did: kisses, then touches, then more? Her stomach quaked with anticipation but she did her best to conceal her nervousness. If she wasn’t ready now, after everything they’d done, then she would never be ready.

Draco stared unflinchingly at Granger, wondering what he ought to say at a time like this. He had never thought much about what to say before sex. He had never really said anything before sex, come to think of it. A witch expressed interest, he shagged her, then she went away. If she was good, he shagged her again later, and she went away again. That’s just how it was.

But that wasn’t how it had been recently. Draco hadn’t actually had a shag in months. Not since before Granger. He never thought that starting this project would make him monogamous for all intents and purposes. At least he could end his drought soon. His entire arrangement with Granger felt like two months of foreplay leading up to this night. He wasn’t sure how much more teasing he could take.

Hermione maintained eye contact with Malfoy, having gotten used to his piercing gaze for the most part by this point. She wondered what he was thinking about. He didn’t look nervous at all. But then, there was no reason he ought to be nervous: he had done this dozens, maybe hundreds of times before, for all she knew. No matter how she tried to ignore it, that thought still irked Hermione. How was she supposed to compete with all of those other witches?

Draco’s lips shifted into a smirk and he finally spoke. “Any requests?”

“What?” Hermione asked, taken aback.

“Any requests?” Draco repeated. “Anything special you want?”

“I…” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the question. “I hadn’t thought….”

“You must have thought of this…. Imagined how it would be…” his voice trailed off silkily.

Hermione shivered reflexively at the suggestion in his voice. Neither of them moved closer to the other on the sofa but it seemed as if the air between them became closer. A dozen images flew to her mind from fantasies she’d had about what having sex with Malfoy would be like. But they all seemed so vague and childish. They betrayed her inexperience. “I can’t think of any.”

“I don’t believe that for one moment,” scoffed Draco. “Perhaps you need help jogging your memory….”

He smirked and she didn’t understand why. Then she felt him. He hadn’t moved but she _felt_ him at the corners of her mind. She looked down to see he had his hand in his pocket. His wand was there, no doubt. His mind was at the edges of her own, coaxing her to let him in. She still did not know  Occlumency, but her fury at the intrusion kept him out.

“I don’t _believe_ you!” she said in disbelief as she shook him out of her mind. “You agreed you wouldn’t do that without—”

Draco cut her off, irritated at her reaction. Stuffy bint had no sense of humor. “Without your permission, I know.”

His audacity was insufferable. “Then why?”

“What makes you think I was actually looking?” he asked, casually playing with his wand.

“I could _feel_ you looking!” Hermione couldn’t believe he was actually trying to defend himself.

“Granger, if I had really been trying to get into your head, do you honestly think you would have been able to keep me out?” He cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

“I—” Hermione stammered and then closed her mouth, digesting what he had said.

“All you “felt” was me casting the spell,” Draco said with a shrug, looking bored.

“Why would you even cast it then?” asked Hermione, exasperated.

“I wanted you to loosen up,” Draco replied simply. “And it worked, in a way.” He smirked in self-satisfaction.

Hermione glared at him, still furious but unable to continue berating him. He hadn’t actually done anything other than be his usual self.

“Let’s not argue, love,” Malfoy said in a brutal parody of real affection. Something in Hermione’s chest ached at the false endearment. She did her best to ignore it.

Hermione rolled her eyes but promised herself she would let it go. Her face was still flushed from her anger and they were sitting so close to the fire that she suddenly felt overheated. She realized that she still hadn’t removed her school robes and unclasped them deftly, hanging them over the back of the sofa. She felt Malfoy’s eyes on her as she sat back down.

“Why stop there?” he asked quietly, and the lust in his voice reminded her of why they were there. Hermione suddenly felt even warmer. Was she really going to go through with this?

Draco watched Granger from across the sofa. She did not answer him, and he did not pursue the subject. Her eyes locked on his and he could hardly stand not to be touching her. She kept eye contact as she moved to untie her tie. However, with a swiftness born of Seeker reflexes, Draco reached out and grabbed the end of it.

Hermione looked at Malfoy questioningly as he held her tie between his fingers. She had to lean forward a bit to keep from choking. But he pulled on it so that it was taut again, and she had to move closer to him to ease the discomfort. Before she knew it, she had slowly crawled across the sofa and was right in front of Malfoy, her eyes still focused on his.

Draco shifted his hand so that he held Granger’s tie just below the knot. He then tugged on it so that Granger’s face was pulled towards his, and he kissed her roughly, thinking that it had been far too long since they last did this. In reality, it had only been three days.

There was an urgency in his kiss that Hermione had felt before, but not in this unrestrained way. She was almost frightened to feel an echo of that urgency building within herself. But she couldn’t have pulled away if she’d wanted to. He held her fast by that traitorous red and gold tie he had professed to hate so much. And then the thought that she couldn’t get away made the kiss even better, and instead of pulling away, she leaned in.

Her lips were warm and wet and soft and they made Draco want so badly to finally be inside her but he couldn’t stop kissing her. She was pressed up against him now so that he was leaning back against the arm of the sofa. He let his hand slip from her tie, as it seemed clear that she would not pull away. He nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth and tangled the fingers of one hand in her hair while the other untucked her shirt and roamed over her stomach and back. After a few moments, he tried to pull away for a breath, but she turned the tables and held his tie fast under the knot, sending his lips crashing back into hers. Every single “lesson” had been worth it if Hermione Granger had become the witch who was refusing to let him stop kissing her now.

Hermione couldn’t get enough of him. She was consumed by his smell and his taste and there was a knot deep in her stomach that wanted more but she didn’t know how to get it. She knew what it wanted, but what was she supposed to do? Every muscle in her body quivered in frantic anticipation and maybe if she just kept kissing him he would understand that she needed him.

Draco nearly groaned as the girl’s kisses became even rougher and more intense. He needed to get her to stop somehow, or they’d never make it off the couch. He summoned all of his will power, breaking away from the kiss as much as he could without choking himself. “Granger.”

Hermione emitted a small whimper and tried to claim his lips again, but he put both hands firmly on her shoulders to hold her back. Her eyes were unfocused and everything felt hazy, but he forced her to look at him.

“Granger,” Draco repeated, and her eyes finally focused on his. “I can give you what you want.”

Hermione’s already flushed face became slightly redder. “What do I have to do?” she asked quietly.

“You have to get up, for starters,” Draco said with a chuckle.

Hermione frowned, a fuzzy part of her brain wondering why she had to move away from Malfoy if he was what she wanted. She hesitated.

“Trust me, darling,” Malfoy said and Hermione’s chest ached again, “you’ll want the bed, at least this time.”

At the word “bed,” Hermione came to her senses. She took a deep breath and looked over at the large four-poster near the back of the room. It had been there for every one of their lessons, but they had never gone near it before. The ebony frame, the silk sheets…. Everything they had done so far, on the sofa, on the floor, all over the castle, it all seemed like play. Something light and often fun. How could anything they might do in that bed ever feel like it was just a game?

Draco sensed the return of her nervousness and sighed. “Come on.” He gently pushed her off of him by the shoulders and moved to stand next to the sofa. He held out his hand and she took it tentatively, letting him pull her up.

“I’m frightened,” Hermione said in a whisper, looking away from him. She couldn’t believe she had said that. Of all the things to say at a time like this….

“Rubbish,” Draco said as he began undoing his tie. “What good is being a Gryffindor if you haven’t even got courage?”

Hermione laughed a bit as she looked up at him. He was almost being nice. Probably because he wanted to sleep with her. “Touché.”

“This is what you’ve wanted all along, remember?” Draco kept his voice level, trying to gently persuade her. He was not going to leave this room without having shagged Hermione Granger.

Hermione nodded, still uncertain. There really was no going back after this.

“I promise you’ll enjoy it,” Draco said as he began unbuttoning his shirt. “Satisfaction guaranteed.” He winked.

Hermione laughed again, fighting the urge to scoff. He had a knack for undermining his own charms. Then her eyes fell upon Malfoy’s chest as he removed his shirt and laid it on the couch. How could she say no to this? Every part of her ached for him. She smiled shyly. “All right.”

“Good,” Draco answered her smile and leaned towards her, whispering lowly into her ear. “Now undress for me.”

Hermione shivered as his hot breath tickled her ear, and felt a warmth grow between her legs at his words. She wanted to kiss him, but he had moved away across the room, so that he was sitting at the foot of the bed, wearing only his trousers.

“You can’t be serious…” she fidgeted, stalling.

“I’ve seen you naked before,” he replied simply.

“Yes, but—”

“Do it,” he commanded.

As if someone had turned on a switch, the authoritative “professor” Malfoy of her “lessons” was back, and he would not accept anything less than complete obedience. The warmth pooling between Hermione’s legs began to spread, and she faced Malfoy as she stood by the sofa. She smirked playfully.

“Yes, sir.”

The two most perfect words that could have escaped Granger’s lips at that moment went straight to Draco’s cock. Merlin, he had done a good job teaching her. He watched with rapt attention as she undid her tie and left it alongside his. Next, she unbuttoned her blouse, from top to bottom. He smirked as the familiar green silk bra was revealed. She hadn’t been wearing the lingerie recently; he’d stopped requiring it because they met so often. She must have thought it would be appropriate for the occasion. Clever girl.

Hermione became less nervous with each button of her blouse she undid. She could feel his eyes on her, and the lust that radiated from him gave her confidence. She let the blouse fall off her shoulders and laid it on the sofa on top of Malfoy’s shirt. Her shoes and stockings were already gone: all she had left was her skirt and lingerie.

Draco’s breath hitched as Granger unzipped and stepped out of her wool skirt. He could hardly believe how badly he wanted her. He stood up and caught her eye, unzipping his trousers and beginning to remove them as a show of good faith. Granger rewarded him by undoing the clasp of her bra and sliding it off, leaving it to join the rest of their discarded clothing. At that point Draco could no longer keep eye contact with her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled as he stared at her breasts unabashedly. Was there anything in this world that could make Draco Malfoy embarrassed? Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she hooked her fingers in the top of her knickers, waiting for Malfoy to do the same.

After prying his eyes away from Granger’s chest, Malfoy realized that she wanted him to follow her lead. He obliged, and as they stepped out of their respective undergarments they were both finally naked before one another.

Hermione suddenly felt awkward standing alone by the sofa, and therefore had no trouble obeying when Malfoy gave her a beckoning look. She moved to stand by him in front of the bed, and wrapped her arms loosely around his waist.

“Good girl,” Draco said approvingly as he looked down at the naked witch between his arms. He claimed her mouth roughly and pulled her body flush against his. Just a bit longer….

Hermione was used to seeing Malfoy’s cock by now, feeling it pressed up against her, in her hand, in her mouth. But now, as she felt its hard length against her stomach, knowing that very soon it would be inside her, she was suddenly worried about its size. Even Malfoy’s fingers felt more than filling most of the time. What if this hurt? She pulled away from the kiss, breathing hard.

“Get on the bed,” Draco ordered, but without the usual threatening firmness of tone.

Hermione moved to the side of the bed and began removing many of the fine throw pillows and blankets that covered it. When she was finally left with two pillows and the regular sheets and duvet, she hesitated, self-conscious about the wetness between her legs. The sheets were such a beautiful silk…. “What about the sheets?”

“What?” Malfoy figured out what she was talking about and growled in impatience. “Honestly, Granger, of all the things to think of at a time like this. I’ll clean the sheets later, all right?”

“Right.” Hermione felt like an idiot, but crawled onto the bed, lying on top of the down duvet. She felt very exposed there on her back, waiting for Malfoy to do something.

It was almost breathtaking. He had waited so long for this. And there she was, lying on silk sheets, waiting for him to become the first man to claim her. Just a few more moments of restraint, to make sure everything was perfect.

Hermione could not decide whether it made her more or less nervous when Malfoy climbed onto the bed to lie next to her left side. His body was so warm and inviting and she wanted to curl up against it and stay there forever. He was very quiet and serious now. He leaned over and kissed her slowly, almost gently. Hermione couldn’t remember him ever having kissed her like that before. The pace of it calmed her. As he deepened the kiss, he ran his left hand over her chest and stomach, soothing and exciting her at the same time. Every time he brushed over a nipple or the skin of her inner thighs, Hermione’s breath would hitch and her heartbeat would quicken. But then he would pet her stomach and sides and she would calm again. It was maddeningly erotic and she could feel herself becoming wetter by the moment.

Maybe this was what she wanted. Draco hoped that she wanted this. She hadn’t told him, after all, what she had dreamed this might be like. And she would never let him take it from her, certainly. But perhaps she wanted it like this: slow and gentle to begin. It wasn’t how he wanted it, but if he gave her this, there would be plenty of time for his fantasies later. She seemed to be responding well. As he passed his hand over her inner thigh he slid a finger between the lips he wanted so badly to be surrounded by. She was soaked.

Hermione’s hips bucked reflexively when Malfoy slid a finger between her labia. She whimpered in disappointment when he pulled his hand away.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Draco with a smile between slow kisses. “I won’t forget about you.”

Hermione shivered and sucked on Malfoy’s tongue gently, not knowing how else to show him how badly she wanted him except through the kiss. She felt like the rest of her body was completely out of her control.

“Ready?”

Hermione wondered why he cared, but tried to nod as he broke their kiss. Would she ever feel like she was ready?

“Suck me,” he breathed against her lips and Hermione looked at him in confusion as he lay on his back.

“It makes it easier,” he explained simply and she felt like a complete idiot for not understanding that to begin with. She leaned over Malfoy’s reclining form and took his very erect penis into her mouth, trying to dispel her nervousness so that she could salivate a bit. She worked her mouth over it for a few moments, taking it all the way in and then pulling back off of it. After a minute, Malfoy put his hand gently on her shoulder to stop her.

That would have to be good enough. He couldn’t wait anymore. Her mouth just made him want her pussy even more. He couldn’t remember ever wanting anything so badly in his entire life. He rolled over to straddle Granger’s hips. He had waited so long to see her from this position. To have her naked and wet and waiting beneath him. She was nervous. It was understandable. But there wasn’t much else he could do to help that. He leaned down and kissed her roughly.

“Relax,” he said, feeling her body tense beneath his.

She did not answer, but she nodded, willing her muscles to unclench. She had no idea what to think or say about all of this. All she knew was that her body wanted him inside of her. It had wanted that for a long time. Things wouldn’t be the same after this, but she would be all right. She had chosen this.

Draco positioned himself at her opening and pushed the head of his cock into her gently, making sure it would be wet enough. He thrust shallowly a few times, spreading her wetness over his cock teasingly. Just a few more seconds…. He tried to get body as close to hers as he could, so that she could kiss, or bite, or do whatever she had to do in the first few moments. He couldn’t remember ever taking this much care about a virgin. All he knew was that he had to do this right if he wanted to have her again.

“This will hurt,” he said matter-of-factly, and Hermione wrapped her arms loosely around his back, bracing herself but keeping her muscles relaxed. She had always known that it would hurt.

Draco was done waiting. In one swift movement, he slid himself all the way into her, pausing for a moment to let her get used to him. He could feel her tense up again in spite of herself.

Hermione’s nails dug into his back and she bit the corner of her pillow as she found herself filled beyond anything she had ever experienced. It hurt, but she couldn’t tell if that was because her hymen had broken or because he was just so big that her muscles weren’t used to stretching like that. She coached herself to take deep breaths and looked up at Malfoy uncertainly.

Draco looked down at Granger with eyes dark with lust and kissed her again as he began to move in and out of her gently, helping to replace the pain with pleasure. He had fucked dozens of girls—why was she so different? Was it just that it had been months? No, there was something about the fact that this was Granger that he was fucking. He was suddenly a bit irritated about the fact that he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about this.

Hermione focused on the kiss so she could ignore the pain. She focused on the way his mouth felt, tasted. And then she became aware of a feeling within her that was not pain, but quite the opposite. Each stroke of his cock within her sent shivers up her spine. Each time he got as deep as he could made a wave of hot pleasure course through her. It felt so different than when he touched her clit, but it still felt so good.

Draco increased his pace, and after a few moments he had to pull away so that he could sit up a bit and get better leverage. He began to breathe harder, as did she, as the speed of his thrusts increased. She was so tight, so hot, so wet. He knew he would want her again and again. As she got used to him, she began to pant and moan softly beneath him. Her head tossed gently back and forth. She could not keep her eyes open. It was one of the sexiest things Draco had ever seen.

He felt so good inside her. She wanted to call his name. But it didn’t feel right to call him by his last name, not when he was inside her, when they were doing something people who are deeply in love do together, when she was as close to him physically as it was possible for two people to be. She wasn’t able to make this act emotionless, not yet. This was her first time, and she couldn’t be detached from it. Regardless of how Malfoy felt or would react, Hermione had to show some sign of affection, a signal that this meant something to her.

“Nnn… Draco…” she whispered softly as he thrust into her over and over. The name sounded strange as it escaped her lips and hung in the air, but it felt better than calling him Malfoy, with all its connections to Lucius and the Death Eaters. It felt almost like they were equals. Almost like they were in love, or at least friends.

Draco did not break his rhythm, but he looked down at Granger in surprise, trying to decide how he felt about her using his first name. It was a name he associated with his parents, who were the only people besides Pansy who called him that. Still, the way Granger said it… no one had ever said his name like that before. He looked at her thoughtfully as he continued to thrust intently in and out of her sweet, soft, wet, no-longer-virgin pussy. It was her first time; he should be nice to her. He already felt like once with her would never be enough, and he wanted to make sure that she’d feel the same way.

As he decided this, Draco shifted his weight and returned himself closer to her body. He could now not only hear, but also feel the breathy gasps and moans that escaped her parted lips every time he thrust into her. She wasn’t loud, but he had the feeling that if he fucked her a little harder and deeper at the right angle she’d be screaming in no time. Her eyes were determinedly closed, and if he hadn’t just heard her say his name, he might suspect her of imagining he was someone else.

Granger had her hands resting on his back again, as if she wanted to hug him, to pull him closer to her and deeper into her. Draco took the initiative, pressing his chest against hers and laying his forearms flat on either side of her head, bending his elbows and resting his weight like that so as not to crush her. It was harder to maintain his rhythm this way, but he could manage. Granger moaned softly and wrapped her arms more assertively around him. It had been a long time since Draco had been in this position during sex. Usually he preferred to make girls crouch on all fours so he could fuck them from behind, or he had them sit on top of him and do all the work. He’d teach Granger those things later, but somehow this felt like the right thing to do for this significant fuck.

Draco shifted so that his mouth was next to the girl’s left ear and began thrusting a bit harder, moaning in spite of himself at how good it felt to be inside her, to finally be claiming her as his own. It was even better than he’d imagined it would be. He ought to tell her that.

“You feel incredible…,” he whispered hotly into her ear, and then, even though it sounded strange, he added, “…Hermione.”

Hermione could scarcely believe it when she heard Malfoy say her name. But his words reassured her a bit. She had no idea if she was doing this right, but it felt so good it was difficult to care. She continued to gasp and moan as he trust into her again and again and it seemed like it would never stop and she never wanted it to stop.

“Open your eyes,” Malfoy commanded, now propped up on his hands again, looming over Hermione, their torsos no longer in contact. Hermione obeyed without thought, looking up at his face. She was surprised at how altered by lust it was, but she supposed hers must be as well. She struggled to keep her eyes open; they wanted to roll back and her eyelids tried to flutter shut every time he thrust into her.

“Don’t you dare think about anyone else,” Malfoy growled imperiously, suddenly seeming almost angry. “This is _me_ doing this to you. Take a good look. This is _me_ fucking your brilliant little brains out. This is what you’re going to think about when you touch yourself from now on. Understand?”

Hermione forced herself to keep her eyes open, taking in every feature of Malfoy’s face, nodding her understanding of his orders. Had she done something wrong? She hadn’t even thought to imagine someone else. She had once wanted it to be Ron, doing this to her, _with_ her, for the first time. But that felt like such a long time ago. The attraction she felt toward  Malfoy had become so much stronger than her affection for Ron.

“I-I know it’s you… Draco,” Hermione managed to gasp out, placing her hands on Malfoy’s waist, beginning to match his rhythm with her hips. Once she got the hang of it, Malfoy smirked at her in approval. Their hips rocked together as he slid in and out of her. Every few seconds Hermione would moan or whisper Malfoy’s name, or barely coherent things about how good it felt.

Draco wanted to do so much more. There were so many fantasies he wanted to turn into realities. But she wouldn’t be ready for any of that tonight. She would come back for more. He would make sure of that. Still, he couldn’t complain about this shag, even though it wasn’t anything out of the common way in mechanics. He could not be disappointed when he finally had her beneath him. Granger’s hair was a mess, splayed out bronze over the black silk sheets. Her eyes were dark and halfway lidded, and her soft lips panted his name in a way that made him want to fuck her even harder.

Hazily, Hermione registered the fact that Malfoy had grabbed his wand from beside the bed and was murmuring a quick spell with it pointed at her. It must have been some sort of contraceptive spell. Hermione hadn’t even considered something as strange as magical birth control before. She had been taking pills for a while now, just in case, but she got the feeling that even if she explained to Malfoy how they worked, he probably wouldn’t trust them. It certainly couldn’t hurt to be doubly protected.

Something about Malfoy’s slightly increased pace and concentration gave Hermione the feeling that he might be close. She had seen him orgasm before, of course, even made him do it, but not like this. Not… _inside_ her. What would it feel like? What should she do? It was so hard to think when everything felt so good! Suddenly,  Malfoy leaned down and claimed her lips roughly, kissing her with animal force, reestablishing his claim on her. The kiss became an outlet for Hermione’s passion as well, and she found herself matching his fervor.

Draco kissed and bit and sucked on Granger’s lips and tongue so hard he was afraid he would hurt her, but part of him didn’t care. Besides, she was giving back almost as good a she got, and that was what did it. A groan of satisfaction caught in Draco’s throat and he arched his back with one final deep thrust into Granger’s probably exhausted pussy. He gave her the gift of him groaning her first name as his orgasm spilled through him in a wave of pleasure.

Hermione was surprised to not feel much of anything as Malfoy collapsed on top of her, presumably spilling inside of her. It felt a little warm, but that was it. She supposed it might feel sticky or something later. She allowed herself to stroke his sweat-dampened hair gently while he lay on her, catching his breath. He was probably only allowing her to do it because he didn’t want to move yet. It made her feel powerful to feel him trembling under her hands, knowing that she’d made him feel that good. And she’d felt good, too. It had been amazing. She knew she’d be wanting it again.

Draco tolerated Granger petting his hair for a few moments while he basked, not ready to pull out of her warmth. Finally he summoned the strength to roll off of her, and chuckled at the girl’s exclamation of dismay as some of his cum escaped her. Sex really was a messy business. She shivered and cuddled up to his side, and he allowed it. This had been an important milestone in her life; she deserved a minute or two to let it sink in.

“Good?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes.” Hermione replied lamely. How could one describe what it had felt like?

“Do you feel different?” Draco asked conversationally as he played with her hair.

“Yes and no,” she said with a shrug.

“Fair enough,” Draco responded, yawning.

Hermione paused and smiled to herself. “I’m not a virgin anymore.”

“No, you’re not,” Draco said matter-of-factly. “I fucked you till you were moaning my name.”

Hermione’s cheeks pinked slightly, then she asked timidly, “Was it, I mean, was _I_ … good?”

Draco chuckled darkly. “Darling, you were taught by the best. Need I say more?”

That feeling in her chest was back. All of it, everything they’d done, was an imitation of love. It would have to be enough for now. She wasn’t going to give it up.

Draco hesitated, remembering what he had promised her. “Do you want me to…?”

Hermione blushed and shook her head. She was too tired to move, and laughed. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Anything you want,” Draco replied generously. Part of him was relieved.

“Can we stay here?” Hermione asked tentatively. The thought of going back to her room after all of this was depressing.

Draco thought about that for a moment. Of course she wanted to stay and sleep there with him. She didn’t look like she could move if she’d wanted to. He was fairly exhausted, himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he had stayed overnight with a girl.

“Your House will probably think you went into your room early and they didn’t see you. My House is used to me being gone at odd hours. Besides, I don’t care what they think.”

This was a good enough answer for Hermione, who crawled between the silk sheets, shivering as she did so. Malfoy followed her lead. She nestled against his side, unable to help feeling attached to him. The worst that could happen was that he would push her away.

Draco didn’t push her away. He was in an excellent post-coital mood, and he was so tired he didn’t think he could lift his arm to push her away. Let her have her moment. The sheets felt so good….

The Room of Requirement instinctively dimmed its torches, satisfied in its half-formed magical consciousness that it had provided the two sleeping students with exactly what they had needed.


	10. Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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The first thought Hermione registered as she awoke the next morning was that everything hurt. The muscles in her arms and legs, and especially her stomach, were all sore. Even her lips hurt from kissing, and the pain between her legs made her wince. It wasn’t awful, but she definitely wouldn’t want to have sex again for at least a few days. She’d had sex.… The thought caused her brain to stutter and her breath to catch in her throat. Was Malfoy still there? His side of the bed was empty, but still warm. She sat up and looked around.

“Awake, then?” Draco looked over at her from where he stood by the fire, pulling his shirt on, then his school robes, since he had no other clothing with him.

“What time is it?” Hermione asked worriedly. There were no windows in the Room of Requirement.

“Time to get back.” Draco replied. “Don’t want your friends to start to wonder what’s happened to you, do you?”

Hermione shook her head vehemently and climbed out of bed. All of her clothing was on the sofa, so she crossed over to Malfoy’s side. She could feel his eyes on her naked form and it felt much more awkward than it had the previous night.

“I know I owe you one,” Draco said with a smirk as he tied his shoelaces. “Next time?”

Hermione nodded with a blush, almost laughing at the absurdity of the fact that she should be embarrassed now, after the previous night. She pulled on her skirt and then began to button her blouse. Maybe she’d just go straight to the baths.

As Draco hoisted his schoolbag over his shoulder and turned to leave, Granger called him back.

“…Draco?”

Draco bristled. He would never get used to that. “Don’t let anyone hear you calling me that.”

His voice was cold. But he was right: she was the one who had insisted on nobody knowing. “Right.”

“I’ll owl you,” he said as he opened the door. It wouldn’t do to make any big gestures right now. He had already gotten closer than he ought to have.

He was gone. No touch, no kiss, no ceremony. He had gotten what he wanted, and he had left, Hermione thought bitterly. Maybe that would be the last time….

No. He had mentioned a “next time” more than once. And either way, she didn’t have time to think about that now. She needed to have a bath, make herself presentable, and get back up to Gryffindor Tower before anyone noticed she had been gone.

*****

Hermione returned from the Prefects’ bathroom feeling much more like herself. She hadn’t had a change of clothing with her, so she cleaned and transfigured her school robes using magic as best she could. She didn’t want people asking her why she was wearing school robes on a Saturday after returning from the bath. The transfigured clothing would have to do until she could get back to her room and change.

She did not meet anyone on her way back to the Tower, and by a stroke of luck most of her fellow Gryffindors were down at breakfast when she climbed the stairs to her room. She managed to get into some clean clothes and was walking back down into the Common Room feeling relieved when she saw that Ron and Ginny were there.

“There you are,” Ron said with a smile. “Where on earth have you been?”

Hermione returned his smile and suppressed her embarrassment. “I had a bit of a lie in, and then I took a bath.”

“But we knocked on your door before breakfast,” Ron replied, puzzled.

“I must’ve been pretty deeply asleep, then,” Hermione said apologetically. “I was up late studying.”

It was becoming much too easy to lie to them.

Ron rolled his eyes. Ginny smiled and held out a package that seemed to be wrapped in a napkin.

“We brought you some toast, just in case.”

Hermione took the package and unwrapped it, suddenly ravenous at the smell of the toast. She thanked Ginny and took a bite.

Ron returned his attention to a game of wizard’s chess he was playing against the other game pieces. Ginny watched Hermione quietly as she finished off the toast with uncharacteristic speed.

“Hermione?” Ginny asked tentatively.

“Yes?” Hermione felt worlds better now that she was clean and her stomach was no longer empty. She brushed the crumbs off of her hands absently.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Ginny tried to keep her voice level.

Ron looked over at them sharply, not liking to be left out. “Why can’t you talk in front of me?”

“It’s about girl things, Ronald.” Ginny scowled at him and motioned for Hermione to follow her upstairs.

“Oh.” Ron abruptly returned to his game.

Hermione followed Ginny up to her own room (they wouldn’t have privacy in Ginny’s dormitory) and closed the door behind them. A paranoid part of her was certain she knew what Ginny was going to speak with her about, but tried to keep her nerves under control.

“What is it, Ginny?” Hermione asked as she casually sat on the edge of her bed and invited Ginny to sit next to her.

“Are you all right?” Ginny sat down next to her friend and looked at her worriedly.

“Of course. I’m fine.” Hermione kept her voice carefully level.

“You don’t seem fine,” Ginny said uncertainly. When Hermione tried to protest, she said, “Look, Ron may be as dense as one of Hagrid’s rock cakes and twice as thick, but don’t insult me.”

Hermione’s confident expression faltered. “Am I that obvious?”

“Probably not. I just… I know what it’s like to hide something big. I recognize the signs.”

Hermione was horrified, remembering the terrible secret of Tom Riddle’s diary that Ginny had once had to conceal. “Oh, Ginny, this isn’t like that. I mean, no one’s getting hurt or anything…”

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked with a note of sympathy.

“What do you mean?” Hermione’s heart sank as she remembered the coldness in Malfoy’s words earlier that morning.

“Hermione, I came to you years ago when I thought I’d never have a chance with Harry, and you kept my secret.” She placed a hand over Hermione’s encouragingly. “You can trust me now.”

Hermione hesitated. “…You’re right. You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just that… I don’t think anyone… maybe not even you… could understand.” She looked away self-consciously.

“Try me.” Ginny stared at her friend seriously.

Hermione swallowed, wondering how she could seriously be considering giving herself away after everything she’d done to prevent this. “I’ve been seeing someone,” she said quietly.

“I thought that might be the case,” Ginny nodded in acceptance.

Hermione sighed, feeling like an idiot.

“Do I know him… or her?” Ginny asked delicately, not wanting to make any assumptions.

“Oh yes,” Hermione said bitterly. “You know him.”

“Gryffindor?” Ginny asked with a kind smile, as if they were playing a game.

“No.” Hermione’s voice was hollow.

“Hmm… Ravenclaw? There are some good-looking brainy types there.” Ginny tried to keep her tone light.

Hermione shook her head and looked at her feet.

“…Hufflepuff?” Ginny asked more seriously, comprehension beginning to dawn on her.

Hermione closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. It was so much harder to admit this to a friend than she had imagined it could be.

“Then…” Ginny paused. “Oh, Hermione, I’m so sorry.” Ginny put her arm around her friend’s shoulder as Hermione hid her face in her hands.

There were only a handful of people it could be, Ginny thought. Crabbe and Goyle were out of the question. Zabini, maybe… and Malfoy.

As Hermione looked up at Ginny, the tears that stained her cheeks betrayed the worst. She had not felt guilty about seeing him until now. She had been nervous, excited, even frustrated, but never guilty. She had promised herself she would not be ashamed of her decision. But the way Ginny was looking at her made her feel as if she had done something unforgivable.

Ginny tried to suppress her shock and aversion to this revelation, realizing what kinds of horrible implications this relationship had for Hermione, given the Gryffindors’ antagonism towards the Slytherins in general, let alone the fact that Malfoy was one of the people Harry hated most.

“…Malfoy…” Ginny sighed as if she has just taken on a great burden.

“Please don’t tell Harry,” Hermione pleaded softly. “I know I shouldn’t ask you to keep things from him, but I don’t think I could bear it if he knew. Or Ron,” she shook as fresh tears slipped from her eyes. “He would never forgive me, let alone ever want… ever think of me in the way I wanted him to.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Ginny promised as she hugged Hermione gently.

Hermione felt shaken. Why was she so upset about this? She and Malfoy were having fun. He made her feel good. What was the harm in that? But the sympathetic way in which Ginny looked at her made it feel so very wrong.

“Have you slept with him?” Ginny asked tentatively after a moment.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted softly after a pause, wiping her face on her sleeve. Her answer was shocking even to herself. Twenty-four hours ago her answer would have been so different.

Ginny swallowed and recovered, trying to keep judgment out of her voice. “Do you love him?”

It would be unfair to judge Hermione for loving such a cruel git. Hermione was so full of love that there was always enough even for those who didn’t deserve it. Ginny knew all too well the impossibility of controlling who you fall in love with. She had clearly been much luckier than Hermione in that sense.

“Is it worse if I do, or if I don’t?” Hermione suddenly felt overwhelmed by guilt. Her heart ached the way it had when he had shown her false affection. “Either I’m deluding myself, or I’m using him.”

“Do you think he might…” Ginny searched for the right words, “care about you?”

Hermione laughed bitterly. “What does Draco Malfoy care about besides himself?”

She was being unfair to him, and she knew it. But she also knew he couldn’t possibly love her. That hadn’t bothered her in the least in the beginning, but every day it seemed a more difficult reality to face.

Ginny paused. “So it’s just sex?”

“Yes. …No. I don’t know.” Hermione shook her head in confusion. “It was in the beginning. I just wanted to see what it was like. I was so angry with Ron… I don’t know what I was thinking. And it felt so good but I couldn’t stop myself from getting attached.” She paused and took a breath, thinking. “He’s different, sometimes. Around me, at least. Nicer.”

Ginny wore an expression of disbelief.

“I know how it sounds, but there’s more to him than I wanted to believe. And that just makes it harder. I know you must think that I’m just trying to justify what I’m doing, but…”

Hermione paused when Ginny rubbed her shoulder gently. “You don’t have to justify it. Just tell me whatever you want to tell me.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “He’s essentially the same person he’s always been… but somehow he’s not. He talks to me. He even said my first name when we… well, you know. God, I can do it but I can’t even say it.”

“What do you think you’ll do?” Ginny asked after a moment.

“I don’t know.… I don’t want to stop. It’s fun. Even knowing that it will never be anything else.” Hermione suddenly felt very foolish. Her head was in the tiger’s mouth and she didn’t even have the sense to pull away before he closed his jaws.

“If he’s forcing you…” Ginny didn’t know what she would say if that were the case.

“No, Gin,” Hermione answered emphatically. “It’s not like that. Please, don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be sick of me soon enough, and then all of this will just be a funny story that no one will believe.”

There was a long pause, and Ginny stood as if to leave.

“You can’t help who you love, Hermione,” she said with deepest empathy as she placed her hand on the doorknob.

“Neither can he.”

Ginny nodded and slipped out of the room. Hermione lay back on her bed, fully dressed, and curled up in to a ball. There was so much to think about, and her brain couldn’t process any of it. Even after a bath and changing her clothes she still felt like she smelled like him. She could still see him above her, taste him in her mouth, feel him inside her. She needed more from him, and there was no way she could ever really have it.


	11. Magnetism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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He had meant to ignore her for a few days. He had meant to give them both time to cool off. He had meant to distance himself from her. But then he could _smell_ her in the corridor and he missed touching her already and he wanted to play.

This was not a good sign.

Hermione was almost unfazed when he grabbed her from behind and pushed her up against the stone wall. This had practically become a routine with him. She sighed in resignation and supposed she wouldn’t be getting to study in the library after all. Secretly, she was pleased. She had been afraid that he had had enough of her, at least for now. Had it really only been earlier that day that he had left her so coldly in the Room of Requirement?

And then there had been the conversation with Ginny which had caused her to sleep away the afternoon in solitude. Ginny had forced Hermione to confront a lot about their relationship that she had been avoiding. How long would he still want her? Could he ever feel anything more? And somehow she still couldn’t shake the paranoid fear that this might just be a game.

Her insecurities were forgotten as he pressed his body against hers.

“I promised I wouldn’t forget about you,” he said huskily as his lips crashed into hers. Her head hit the stone behind her and she winced, but his hand slipped over her hair and soothed the hurt. She wanted to lose herself in his kiss, to forget how guilty Ginny had made her feel, how frightened she was that she might be falling in love with him, knowing he would never love her back. A pathetic part of her didn’t care if he loved her as long as she could be with him like this.

Draco kissed her savagely, grinding his hips into hers, trying to remind himself that he was here to make her come, not himself. One hand was lost in her hair and the other was braced against the cold stone wall, helping both of them stay up. His tongue fought with hers for control and she quickly relinquished it to him. He shivered as she submitted.

Hermione struggled to keep up with Malfoy’s ferocity, clinging to his robes and complimenting the movements of his lips and tongue in a dance where he was clearly the leader. After a few moments, however, she became aware of where they were and reluctantly broke away from the kiss, whispering, “What if someone sees?”

Draco rolled his eyes and licked his kiss-swollen lips. He idly moved the hand that was in her hair so that he could slide it beneath the blouse she was wearing with a pair of denim Muggle trousers. “It’s Saturday.”

Hermione panted, trying to keep quiet as his hand slid over her unpadded bra. She fought with herself about whether or not she cared how exposed they were. This was already so difficult with only one person knowing about them. If someone caught them like this… “Someone could still walk by.”

“Then we’ll have to be quick, won’t we?” was Draco’s ready reply as he smirked wickedly and pinched her left nipple through the fabric. If they were caught, that useless contract would be broken. So what? She would come to him willingly now. What did it matter if people knew? But she would be angry…. Better to try to speed this up, just in case.

Hermione jerked involuntarily and bit her lip as Malfoy moved his mouth to her neck. Half of her was terrified, the other half electrified at the idea of being caught like this. The dull ache between her legs was being replaced with warmth and her clit seemed to be protesting that it hadn’t gotten any attention the previous night. Every kiss and nip at the tender skin of her neck drove her fears further from her mind, but not completely away.

Draco unbuttoned and unzipped Granger’s trousers and slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her knickers, very content to find her warm and wet in anticipation. He wanted to pull the confining clothing down so that his hand could move more freely, but even he didn’t want to tempt Fate to that degree. His wrists were strong; he could manage. He wasted no time and began to run his middle finger repeatedly over her clit, drawing wetness up from her opening to make the hard pebble of flesh slick with her arousal. He moved his head away from her neck and watched her reactions. She wore the most amazing expression as his finger slid over her, then she hid her face against his shoulder.

Hermione wanted to moan so badly, but she was afraid someone might hear, so she moved her face closer to Malfoy’s neck and sucked gently to muffle the noise, savoring the taste of his skin and the way he smelled. She was pleasantly surprised when he increased the speed of his finger on her clit in response. She bit gently on his neck to keep from moaning.

He could feel her getting close already and the way she was biting his neck made him want to speed up even more, but she wasn’t going to get away this easily. He slowed his pace and began to move his finger around her labia and circle her clit teasingly. She gasped in frustration and sucked on his neck in an effort to coax him to give her what she wanted.

“What’s wrong, love?” he teased, and that spot in her chest ached almost as badly as her clit.

“Please…” she whispered against his neck. She had to brace her hands on his hips to hold herself up.

“Please what?” he feigned ignorance, dipping his finger inside her drenched opening now, but not deeply enough to satisfy.

“You know what I want,” Hermione whimpered impatiently, trying to move her hips in such a way that his fingers would graze her clit.

“Maybe,” Draco smirked and whispered hotly in her ear. “Why don’t you tell me?”

The anticipation was unbearable, and Hermione was worried that at any moment they would hear footsteps and she’d be deprived of the thing she wanted most in the world. She felt like she would fall apart if she didn’t come soon.

“Well?” Draco drawled as his finger circled close to her clit again.

“Make me come, you son of a bitch!” Hermione growled and dug her fingernails into his hips through his robes.

Draco nearly laughed in his delight, but he obliged, stroking his middle finger roughly over Granger’s clit and letting his left hand pinch each of her nipples in turn beneath her blouse. She writhed beneath his touch and latched her mouth onto his neck again, kissing, licking, sucking, biting to her heart’s content to keep from moaning.

He stroked her harder and faster until she came, gasping against his neck, her whole body quivering against his. He had to wrap his left arm around her waist to hold her up, and she bit so hard into his neck that he was certain she had drawn blood. But he had made her come, as he had said he would.

Hermione wilted in his arms, utterly sated, finally letting go of his neck. Ouch, maybe she ought to offer to heal that mark for him. She thought that she might let him hold her there for a while, but then she heard footsteps approaching. Mortified, she quickly attempted to compose herself.

Draco rallied instantly. He hoisted Granger up into his arms without warning and carried her dramatically as if she were about to faint. The maker of the footsteps turned out to be a girl, maybe in second or third year. Draco smiled mischievously at her as she approached. She looked utterly confused and perhaps a bit frightened.

“Hospital Wing,” he said to the girl as if it explained everything. “She’ll be all right.”

Hermione smiled shyly and, catching on to Draco’s ruse, tried to look as if she had just had a fainting spell. She also hoped that the girl would not notice that her jeans were unzipped. The last thing she needed was for it to be known that the Head Girl was messing about in the corridors, let alone with Draco Malfoy.

Draco began to carry Granger away towards the Hospital Wing, and as soon as the girl was gone, he set her down and they both had a laugh. Granger’s lips and cheeks were still flushed from her orgasm, and Draco had to exercise a significant amount of willpower to keep his distance.

Hermione zipped up her jeans and fixed her blouse, blushing a bit. “That was close….”

“But you liked it,” observed Draco as he rubbed his neck gingerly.

“Do you think she saw?” Hermione asked nervously as she leaned against the wall. Her knees still felt weak. She slid down the stone wall to sit against it.

“If she did, I hope she learned something,” he replied with a grin, sitting next to her against the wall.

“Draco!” Hermione scolded him playfully, but his expression instantly grew dark.

“Not here,” his voice was full of cold warning.

Hermione berated herself internally. Anyone might hear her! Why couldn’t she stop calling him that? “Of course….”

“Did you make it back all right?” Draco asked conversationally, as if nothing had happened.

“Sort of,” Hermione grimaced. She paused. “Ginny knows.”

“The Weasley girl?”

Hermione nodded and looked down.

Draco was a bit put out. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know. You’re the one who insisted—”

“I know.” Hermione cut him off and looked down again.

“Then why—?” Draco asked, confused and more than a little annoyed.

“She guessed. Maybe I was acting strangely because we…” she swallowed, not wanting to get into this. “She won’t tell anyone.”

Draco paused, thinking. She was obviously more upset about this than he was. He was mostly irritated because she had been the first one to break the rule that she had insisted on so strongly. He could care less who knew at this point. But if more people found out, she might not want to see him anymore. So he had to keep maintaining the secret: he wasn’t done with her yet.

“We’ll just have to be more careful from now on.” He stood and offered her his hand reflexively.

Hermione hesitated and looked up at Malfoy before taking his hand. ‘From now on’? What did that mean? For how long? She did not answer him.

“Did you leave a mark?” Draco let go of her hand.

“What?” Hermione was shaken from her thoughts.

“A mark.” He pointed at his neck.

Hermione blushed at the angry red wound her teeth had caused. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry,” Draco chided with a suggestive glint in his eye. “Just fix it. It’s almost dinnertime.”

“Right!” Hermione drew her wand out of her back pocket and performed a simple healing spell on Malfoy’s neck. The mark faded to a pale, almost unnoticeable pink.

Draco felt his neck carefully. It was still a bit tender, but the healing was more than adequate. He nodded his thanks to Granger. “Dinner, then.”

“Yes,” Hermione replied awkwardly, remembering the last dinner she’d had. And because she didn’t know what to do, she glanced at him one more time and walked off towards the Great Hall without another word. It wasn’t as if they could walk in to dinner together, after all.

Draco was left standing in the corridor, wondering what would have happened if they had walked into the Great Hall together. If, Merlin forbid, they had dared to sit at the same table and shared a meal as they’d done the previous night. It was unthinkable.

Yet he wanted to do it. Not because he loved her or even wanted to be near her or anything so trite as that. But just to see what would happen. Just to fuck things up. In the same way that he had flaunted his own allegiance to the Dark Lord in front of Albus Dumbledore, he also wanted to flaunt this other, very different indiscretion. He wanted to kiss, touch, even fuck his brilliant little Mudblood right in front of people like his father, even in front of the Dark Lord himself, and damn the consequences. It was stupid and sick, but he was so tired of their perceptions, their expectations. It would be so easy to destroy them. He wasn’t ashamed of his choices.

But she was. He would tell the entire school tomorrow just to watch the mayhem that would ensue, but she… she was afraid. Ashamed. And that bothered him. A Mudblood, a disgraceful Muggle-born, useless in the eyes of everyone he respected, was ashamed of _him_.  He, the last son of a noble Pureblood line.

When they were younger, he had tried to force her to see how low she was, and in so doing, he had proved himself to be beneath her. She was ashamed of him, and of herself. What would they say if they knew she had thrown herself into the arms of their worst enemy? What would Harry Potter say? She, with all of her Gryffindor courage, was too afraid to find out. She was a choice he had made and he did not regret her.

Did she regret him?

He supposed it didn’t matter. She could see it however she wanted to see it. She could hide. She could even make him hide with her. And he would keep the secret, so he could keep seeing her. He certainly wasn’t sick of her yet. She could pretend all she wanted, but she was his and his alone in the dark where nobody could see.

*****

He was staring at her. Hermione had to try very hard not to return his gaze. Surely someone would see! But only Ginny seemed to notice. She placed her hand gently on Hermione’s shoulder and guided the conversation towards the day’s lessons.

Draco smirked as Granger forced herself to look away. He resumed eating his dinner with an air of nonchalance that seemed to annoy her from across the room. Hey, he never said he would do this _exactly_ how she wanted.

*****

This was insane. It had to stop! The Weasley girl knew. If they weren’t careful, others would find out soon enough. He needed to get a hold of himself. She was just a witch. Just a good shag. He’d had her, all of her, finally, and he wanted more. But this was ridiculous!

The sex was good and she’d deserved to come. So he’d sought her out and made it happen. That wasn’t so out of line, even if they might have been caught. And then that evening, after dinner, she had confronted him because of his staring. No one had noticed! But she was right. And he had apologized wordlessly (though perhaps not very sincerely) in an empty classroom for an hour and a half until she had insisted that someone would find them and that she needed to finish her assignments.

The next day he had caught her after lessons and dragged her into a closet for half an hour before dinner. Two days later he had found her in the library and insisted on her spending a few quality hours in the Room of Requirement with him. When they were done, she had scolded him for not giving her enough time to do her assignments, but had allowed him to kiss her goodnight. He could tell she was getting frustrated with his persistence, but she never resisted.

It had to stop. This wasn’t like him. She was going to get the wrong idea about his attachment to her. He had to prove that he could stay away from her for more than twelve hours. She was just another witch. Just a good shag, just a fun toy to distract him from the seriously fucked-up state of his life and the wizarding world.

A week. He could go a week. She needed time to catch up on her work. So did he, or he’d never pass his NEWTs and then he’d be truly fucked. It was ridiculous to see her every day. Next Saturday. He could have her all day if he wanted, if he would just wait until next Saturday. What could be easier? She agreed.

And it had been working, too. Six days. He had made it six days without touching her. And it really hadn’t been that bad. Maybe he didn’t need her quite so much as he thought. Maybe he was tiring of her. Good. Maybe it would be over soon. Good riddance. He could finally get on with his life, and so could she. It would be a relief.

But he would still see her on Saturday. Just to check.

Six days. And then he crumbled. He saw her at dinner and she was beautiful and the magical image of the sky was dark and full of rain above them and the castle was cold and the food on his plate was not enough to satisfy him.

Damn it all. Where was his broom?


	12. Electricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Hermione had settled into her room for the night and was just about to change into her nightclothes. She had been so busy with schoolwork that day that she hadn’t even had a chance to do more than take off her outer robes after classes and was still in the rest of her uniform.

She had wanted to make sure that she would be finished with all of the schoolwork she had needed to catch up on, plus the work that was due the following week, before meeting up with Malfoy the next day. There was no telling how much of her time he would occupy. She had managed it so far, but barely. Now she could finally relax.

A sudden tap on her window nearly gave her a heart attack. Hermione’s room had to be dozens of meters from the ground: what could it be? Wand drawn, she cautiously moved over to the window and peered out into the dark, rainy night. Her gaze was met through the glass by Malfoy’s, and she stifled a gasp of surprise. She gave him a confused look but opened the window. He was hovering on his broom, and crawled in through the window before he could be invited in.

“I thought we weren’t meeting until tomorrow,” Hermione said as Malfoy dripped water all over the stone floor of her tower bedroom. Not that she wasn’t happy to see him. It had been a long week.

“Shh,” he cautioned her as he placed his index finger to his lips and made a motion with his eyes toward her door. “Couldn’t wait,” he whispered unapologetically. That was an understatement.

Hermione went over to her door and locked it, then raised her wand to cast a silencing charm. However, Malfoy gently closed his cold fingers around her wand hand to stop her. She looked up at him in confusion, and he was smiling deviously. He dragged her towards him by her wand hand and captured her lips roughly. His skin was cold and wet but the inside of his mouth and his tongue were warm and inviting and the contrast was so intense that it made Hermione shiver and let out a small moan against his lips.

Malfoy abruptly broke the kiss and gave her a warning look, reminding her that every one of her fellow Gryffindors was within hearing range if she got loud enough, and there was nothing except a few stone walls to protect her precious secret. That thought was frightening and exhilarating at the same time. She definitely didn’t want them to know, but the idea that they were so nearby was somehow exciting.

The waiting had been unbearable. What difference did one day make? He’d gone long enough to prove his point: no sense denying himself further. He wanted her, and he deserved to have her. And now he would have her in her own bedroom, right under the noses of every single Gryffindor who would never believe that their sweet little bookworm would succumb to the advances of Draco Malfoy: Pureblood, Slytherin, Death Eater. And there would be no magic to keep them from hearing if she couldn’t control herself.

Malfoy had begun stripping off his wet clothes and laying them over the back of a chair by Hermione’s fireplace. Hermione watched him as if in a sort of trance until he noticed that she hadn’t moved and looked up at her. He rolled his eyes impatiently and walked over to her, taking her tie in his chilled fingers and undoing it expertly, throwing it on a chair near her wardrobe. Next, he began to unbutton her blouse, and Hermione nearly trembled where she stood because he was already bare to the waist and she couldn’t stop her eyes from raking over his pale skin. At least looking at his chest was easier than meeting his eyes. He had never undressed her before.

With every button of her blouse he undid Draco felt the warmth return to his skin, which was beginning to dry. His hair was still wet and he needed to get his trousers off because his legs were freezing, but warmth was radiating off of her even though he was only touching her shirt, and it took quite a bit of will power not to rip the rest of her clothing off and throw her onto the bed.

He had finally finished undoing the buttons and when his hands slid down her arms to free her from her blouse they were warm and soft. ‘Warm’ was a word she would never have used to describe Draco Malfoy before she had begun to let him touch her. And she had let him do everything else to her. More than once. And now, it seemed, she was going to let him share her bed. The Room of Requirement was almost a place outside of reality where no one could find them, and the interludes they had shared in empty classrooms and secluded corners were dreamlike, but this bedroom was very real. She would sleep in that bed for many nights afterward, and it would smell like him when he was gone. That ineffable clean spiciness that was now muted by the fresh smell of cold rain and night air.

Draco threw the blouse over to join her tie and slid his hands down Granger’s back to unzip her stiff pleated skirt. It fell to her ankles and she stepped out of it silently. He reached down to pick it up, and on his way back up his face was met with smooth legs, white cotton knickers, a stomach that was taut with anticipation, a white bra with lace, and finally, a face that was flushed with nervousness and lust. How could she possibly still be nervous after everything they’d done?

The wool skirt slipped from his fingers and lay forgotten on the floor. He wrapped his arms around the irresistible girl’s waist and kissed her roughly, almost violently. His idea to stay away had been idiotic. He could have her whenever he wanted, so why shouldn’t he? She knew the terms of their arrangement. Why should he try to stay away? She was his now, undeniably his, she was his, she was _his_ , and he would have her whenever he wanted wherever he wanted even in Gryffindor bloody Tower in the middle of the night and she would not deny him.

Hermione suppressed the moans that threatened to escape her for fear of being discovered and tried to match this kiss that was rough and primal even by Malfoy’s standards. She wrapped her arms around his waist to steady herself and he was plunging his tongue into her mouth as if it were sex and if he really did that to her she wasn’t sure she could survive it. What had come over him? He seemed almost desperate. He was the one who had suggested waiting a week. Why would he risk coming to her room if he was going to see her the next day?

She gripped the top of his damp trousers and Draco was immediately enraged by the existence of clothing. He tore himself away from her and pulled the rest of his rain-soaked garments from his skin, draping both his trousers and boxers near the fire. His wand fell out of his pocket and rolled away towards the bed, but he found it hard to care. His erection had managed to come to life in spite of the cold and it proclaimed the arousal that had already been more than evident in the hunger of his kiss.

Hermione’s eyes slid over Malfoy’s body without shame or embarrassment for the first time. Her nervousness was receding. She knew he was attracted to her, of course: none of this would have begun if he hadn’t wanted to sleep with her. But now he wanted her so badly that he had come to her in her own room, at night, with no prior arrangement. And that want was in his touch, in his eyes, in his kiss. He _wanted_ her. And that was nothing like love: Hermione knew that. But it was something.

Draco was drawn back towards her and when their bodies met he buried his face in her neck, kissing, biting, and sucking at the soft, warm skin there as his hands deftly unhooked her bra and then slid her little white knickers down her legs. When he finally looked back into her face again, they were both standing naked in the firelight.

“You’re shivering,” she whispered as quietly as she could, her eyes somehow full of concern and desire at the same time.

“I don’t care.” His voice was low and heavy with lust.

Hermione shook her head in exasperated affection and took Malfoy’s hand, leading him over to her four-poster, drawing back the sheets and heavy blankets and crawling beneath them, leading him in after her.

The bed was warm and soft and it smelled like her. She was an arm’s length away from Draco on the other side of the bed, but he was surrounded by her scent. He could sleep without nightmares in this bed, he mused. But he already knew that he would be too proud to stay after this was over. They’d done that once, because it was her first time and it was too inconvenient not to. But at the end of the day, he had only agreed to fuck her, not to sleep with her.

Draco rolled over to face her and dragged Granger’s naked form towards him between the sheets. He had stopped shivering. He grabbed a fistful of her unmanageable locks and pressed his mouth against hers as he pulled her body flush with his. He could hear her stifle a moan. He slid his hand down her back and roughly grabbed one cheek of her perfect ass. She groaned and he pulled away from the kiss, glaring at her warningly.

“Shh,” he reminded her, turning down the covers to give himself more freedom of movement. His eyes took in every detail of her exposed skin as she lay on her side facing him.

She looked at him guiltily as if she were about to apologize.

“Not a sound,” he whispered against her lips, rubbing his palm over the flesh he had grabbed so forcefully.

Hermione bit her lip and her eyes squeezed shut. Why wouldn’t he just let her cast a silencing charm? How did he expect her not to make any noise when they were about to…?

Malfoy smirked and separated the sheet from the heavy blankets, dragging it back up over Hermione’s exposed form. She watched him in anticipation as his hand slid over the fabric to brush over her nipple. She gasped reflexively, and immediately regretted it. Malfoy pulled his hand away from her chest, tore the sheet down, and spanked her ass as if she were a naughty child.

The sharp sound of flesh smacking flesh rung out in the room and Hermione looked over at the door nervously, certain that everyone in the tower must have heard. What was worse was that the spank had made her want to moan, and she had had to bite her lip to contain it.

Draco smirked in self-satisfaction as he noted the faint red mark on her skin by the dim firelight. This was going to be fun. She didn’t want them to know? Fine. Then it would be her responsibility to make sure that no one heard them tonight.

Hermione was horrified to realize that the pain of the spank had combined with her fear being caught and created a very unexpected and potent source of arousal for her. The space between her naked thighs felt hot and damp and she pressed her knees together protectively. It wasn’t as if Malfoy hadn’t seen her like this before, but she still felt ashamed when her body reacted to things like this. It was as if Malfoy already knew she would enjoy them before she herself did.

Draco stroked a hand down Granger’s back, sliding it gently over the offended cheek of her ass, soothing the skin apologetically. His expression, however, was anything but sorry. He gazed at her possessively, his face a breath away from hers, and dared her to disobey again.

Hermione was growing wetter and wetter with each moment that Malfoy’s eyes pierced hers. It did not help matters when he gently pressed her onto her back and slid a hand down her body from her neck over her stomach and between her legs, which were still pressed together.

Draco shook his head disapprovingly and tapped a finger on Granger’s thigh, demanding entrance. He smirked when her legs slid apart obligingly, as if against her own will. He ran his middle finger up from the bottom of her slit to her hypersensitive clit, flicking over it and forcing Granger to stifle another moan by biting a corner of the pillow her head was rested on.

This was maddening! Hermione didn’t know how Malfoy could expect her not to make any noise when he was touching her like that. He had always encouraged her to let go of her gasps, moans, and sighs, and sometimes even wanted her to talk while they were having sex. It was unfair to expect her to stay silent now!

“Malfoy, please,” she whispered as quietly as she could, praying he would see reason and cast a silencing charm.

Draco removed his hand from her clit and raised it warningly near her ass. “Shh,” he whispered almost mockingly, “I thought you didn’t want them to know.”

Hermione squirmed at the loss of his touch and winced at the tone of his voice. “I don’t, but—”

Draco cut her off, still whispering harshly. “Don’t worry: I don’t want anyone knowing I was here, either,” he sneered, voice cold.

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat at his stinging words. Why was he so angry with her? “It was _your_ idea to come here—”

Granger’s voice was getting dangerously loud, and Draco covered her mouth with his hand. As much as her insistence on secrecy irked him, this was one of the worst places for them to be caught together.

“Quiet,” he warned, but his tone was not as cold as before. “I’ll cast a silencing charm… if you behave.”

Hermione looked up at him inquiringly. His hand still covered her mouth.

“Be a good girl and hold your tongue,” he softened his words with a playful smile. When she closed her eyes in submission, he removed his hand from her mouth and slipped it down her body to trace his finger between the lips that were glossy with her arousal. “I promise you’ll enjoy this.”

He was insane. It couldn’t be done. Every time he touched her she wanted to moan his name. Why was he being so insistent about this? Just to make her suffer? But Hermione’s capacity for rational thought diminished as she watched Malfoy slide down the bed and settle his head between her legs.

Draco almost shivered when he was finally face-to-face with the pussy he had been thinking about virtually nonstop for the past week. Granger was clean and wet and wanting and her scent was intoxicating. Even the lips of her pussy were slightly open in anticipation of him. It had been a while since he’d taken the time to do this for her. Most of their encounters of late had been rushed and rough. But now there was time.

Hermione gripped the sheets and bit down on the corner of her pillow as Malfoy’s tongue slid over her from her opening up to and across her hardened clit. Her hips twitched upward unconsciously, and she fought the urge to wrap her legs around his neck and pull him closer to the aching need that was begging to be satisfied by him.

Delicious. Draco smirked as he ran his tongue again and again up from the hole that he longed to be inside again to the bundle of nerves that made her entire body shiver when touched. The strokes of his tongue were slow, teasing. He could feel her legs tremble under his hands, which were braced gently on her thighs. He glanced up at her and felt himself grow harder against the blankets when he saw her face: eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, teeth biting into the corner of her pillow to keep from moaning.

 _Draco... yes… good… Oh, Draco… more…_ The words wanted to escape so badly, along with a stream of noises that would be barely recognizable as her own. But she couldn’t let them out. Either her housemates would hear, or he would punish her and they would hear that. She had to hold on so he would cast a silencing charm. So she stifled her cries. She practically suffocated herself in the pillow. She was shaking all over, both from pleasure and from the effort it took to control herself. His tongue slid over her clit again and again. It felt so good. _So good…_ __

What Draco wouldn’t have given to know what she was thinking as his hands gripped her thighs more roughly now, speeding up the pace of his tongue slightly. She was squirming, sometimes practically thrashing, but she kept her face hidden against the corner of the pillow, and all he could hear from her was labored breathing through her nose. Slowly, he removed one hand from her thigh, and slid his index finger in a circle around her drenched opening. Her hips jerked. He slid the tip of his finger into her gently and continued to lap at her clit.

Hermione didn’t know how much more she could take. _God, Draco… Your tongue feels so good… Oh yes, touch me! … I promise I’ll be good, just don’t stop!_ Even if she were allowed to speak now, those were words Hermione might not have had the courage to give voice to. But she urged him on mentally, hoping he could sense her urgency, how good he made her feel. It was like a dream. She was lying in her own bed, in her own room, and Draco  Malfoy was about to make her come with his tongue. And he wouldn’t even let her cry out his name!

Draco smirked inwardly as he sensed her orgasm approaching. This would be worth the wait. He slid his finger completely inside her and began to stroke her gently from the inside in time with his tongue. He didn’t want to overwhelm her… yet. She squirmed impatiently in confusion as he pulled away for a moment, his finger still inside her and now curling against the spot that would’ve made her gasp had she been allowed to make a sound. He reached down to grab his wand from the floor by the bed and returned to his position between her legs, looking up at her expectantly until she returned his gaze.

Why was he leaving her clit alone? Hermione was very frustrated because she was so close and if he didn’t do something about it now, her sensitivity might recede. She wanted so badly to come. His finger inside her felt good, and her legs quaked every time it grazed that spot that she couldn’t seem to get at properly by herself. She looked down at Malfoy, and he was holding his wand. What was he doing? And then his mouth was back on her clit and his tongue was stroking over it while his finger stroked inside of her relentlessly and it was so hard, so very hard to stay quiet. _Oh, Draco, it’s good, so good, don’t stop, don’t ever stop, I love it when you touch-me-lick-me-fuck-me, love your hands-mouth-cock, love every part of you, love you, Draco, please make me come, Draco, please—_

She was breathing so hard. He thought she might drown in the effort of holding herself back. She was so close. So he moved his mouth away from her irresistible pussy for one brief moment, looked up at her and jabbed his wand toward the ceiling while saying, “ _Silencio_ ,” before dipping his head back down and running his tongue determinedly over Granger’s clit as his finger continued to work inside her.

 _Please, Draco, make me come, it feels so good, please—_ Hermione could hardly believe her eyes or ears when Draco finally cast the silencing charm, and comprehension dawned on her just in time as the beginnings of her orgasm washed over her. She gasped and shook, her fingers gripping the sheets. _Yes, Draco, yes, yes, thank you, yes—_ “Draco!”

Draco was filled with self-satisfaction and he lapped at Granger’s pussy for a few more moments as her orgasm rushed through her. As she finally relaxed a bit and began to tremble less, she murmured his name over and over again almost reverently, seemingly in a daze. Draco was a bit unsettled, but he had to admit that the sound of his name spilling from her lips as she came had been incredibly sexy. The fact that he still wasn’t used to her calling him by his first name made the whole thing seem even more forbidden. Maybe he’d like to hear it a bit more, as long as no one else was around.

Hermione watched hazily as Malfoy pulled away from her slightly, sat up, and licked his lips. His eyes were so dark they looked black and the fringe of his hair fell in his face. He looked… _hungry_. Hermione thought she had never seen anything so dangerously beautiful in her life.

“Roll over,” ordered this dark Draco as his eyes met hers in a challenge. There had always been a battle between them, and he was determined not to show weakness now. He wasn’t going to let her control him, no matter how badly he wanted her. This was still on his terms.


	13. Fusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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“What?” Hermione was momentarily confused, still panting and trying to recover.

“On your knees,” clarified Draco, as if that explained everything.

“But—” Hermione understood now, but was apprehensive. He had never taken her from behind before. It wasn’t as if she was completely new to sex, but she also was far from being used to it: she could count the times they’d had sex on one hand, after all. Would it feel different this way?

“I think I liked you better when you couldn’t talk,” said Draco half-mockingly, half-threateningly.

Hermione was hurt by the coldness in his voice. Had she done something wrong? But she decided to ignore his jibe and persist. “But why?”

Draco growled impatiently. “Are you going to fight me every step of the way, or are you going to trust me to give you what you want, like I always do?”

Hermione swallowed, apprehensive. Why was he in such a strange mood? But he was Malfoy, after all. You’d have to be mad to try to parse him out. After looking at him warily for a moment, Hermione nodded and began to turn away from him to do as he’d asked. However, he caught her wrist in his strong hand and held her there for a moment.

“Are you going to behave?” he asked warningly.

Hermione paused, searching for a hint of his usual playfulness in his face. She answered grudgingly, “…Yes.”

Draco did not relinquish his grip on her arm. “Yes, _Draco_ ,” he said firmly.

Hermione was frustrated and confused. “But you said you didn’t want me to—”

Draco rolled his eyes and moved his free hand to smack Granger’s smooth ass once again.

The slight pain made Hermione gasp and suppress a groan. The desire her orgasm had temporarily quenched was kindling again and she wanted Malfoy to stop playing with her and just tell her what he wanted her to do so she could finally have him inside her again.

“Sorry… Draco,” she said quietly, savoring the opportunity to use the name that allowed her to feel close to him. It was pointless to try to figure out why he suddenly wanted her to use it. And then she begun to understood why that name always seemed to tumble from her lips when they were alone together, and why he wouldn’t let her call him that where someone might hear.

There was the obvious reason, of course: if someone heard her use that name, they would know that something had changed between the two of them. But it was more than that. _Malfoy_ was the boy who had tortured her with taunts and jibes, the Death Eater who had tried to kill Dumbledore, the  Slytherin who could not be seen with her in a corridor or risk the ruination of his reputation.

But _Draco_ … Draco was the young man who had cornered her in a dark hallway months ago, not to hurt her, but to claim her as his own. Draco was the lover who had been patient and gentle with her because she had never done any of this before, even when he could have simply taken what he wanted. Draco was her willing partner in a relationship that they both ought to be ashamed of, but could not walk away from.

“Draco…,” she repeated in a soft whisper when he did not answer her apology. He simply sat at the edge of the bed, waiting. Ready to obey, Hermione moved to crouch on her hands and knees, facing the headboard. Her limbs trembled with her anticipation.

Draco ran one hand admiringly over each cheek of her ass, longing to be inside her but forcing himself to savor her. After tonight, it could be a while. It was almost the Holidays. Even if she stayed at school, there was no way he could leave his mother alone at Christmas. Six days had been difficult enough. Could he really wait until January?

He positioned himself behind her on his knees, and slid one hand up her body to caress each of her breasts in turn, smirking as she shivered reflexively.

“Tell me what you want,” Draco said darkly, determined to bring something new out tonight. They had long established that she liked dirty words, but it was high time she learned to join in the play.

What? Hermione shook her head almost imperceptibly once she realized what he was asking. There was no way she could say those things. Certainly, she could tell him how good it felt or cry his name in the throes of passion, but to actually describe… Just the thought made her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I see that little prim and proper blush of yours, Granger,” said Draco scoldingly. “You can’t pretend to be a lady around me.”

Hermione hid her face in the pillow, but she felt warm all over in reaction to the tone of Malfoy’s voice. She could feel him move to her side, but didn’t know what to do. Of course she knew what she wanted. She wanted him to fuck her. She wanted his cock inside her like his fingers had been. But she would never be able to say those things out loud! It was stupid that she couldn’t, but for some reason, even when they were naked on her bed and he had just made her come, she just didn’t think she could say those words.

“Hermione…” he whispered hotly into her ear and her name sounded like a dirty word itself when it came from his lips. Damn that irresistible voice. She swore he could make her wet by saying even the most innocent word in that tone. But she still couldn’t answer.

Draco lay on the bed next to her casually as she remained on her hands and knees with her face hidden. “Tell me what you want,” he repeated. “I’ve got all night, and I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable to hold that pose for very long.”

Hermione lifted her head and glared at him for a second before hiding her face again. Cocky bastard. Damn, her arms were beginning to get uncomfortable.

Draco ignored her stubbornness. “Fine. But I’m not leaving until you tell me. Wouldn’t want one of your little friends to find me here tomorrow morning, would you?”

That thought was chilling, though Hermione knew that Malfoy was probably bluffing. He would be in far more trouble than she would if he were caught in Gryffindor Tower. She still refused to answer him. Maybe if she held out, he’d get frustrated and give in.

If she thought her patience could outlast his, she was sorely mistaken. He had come here a day early because he had been dying to be with her, but now that she was naked before him, he could control himself if it meant getting her to try something new. He stroked his warm palm slowly down her side, then down across her stomach and back up to pet the warm expanse of her back, carefully avoiding her breasts. By the time his hand slid to her neck she was facing him with eyes half closed, breathing heavily.

“No one will hear but me,” he coaxed reasonably as he slid his thumb along her jaw.

It wasn’t fair. Why was he able to affect her so much by doing so little? But his hand was warm and his seemingly innocent touches reminded her of all of the other times he had touched her and she wanted him so badly she was having a hard time remembering why she was resisting.

“Okay,” she said as his finger slid over the edge of her ear.

“‘Okay,’ what?” Draco asked with eyebrow raised.

“Okay, _Draco_?”  With an innocent smile.

Draco snorted. “Cute.”

“All right, all right,” relented Hermione as she rolled onto her back, unable to support herself any longer. It was going to take her a while to get the words out anyway. “Ask me again.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but moved so that he was lying against her side and asked lowly, “What do you want?”

Hermione swallowed. “I… I want you.”

“Not good enough.” Draco traced his finger in circles around her bellybutton.

“I want you… inside me.” Hermione blushed furiously. She was humiliated by her inability to articulate what he wanted to hear. They were only words, after all!

“What part of me?” His fingers stroked her inner thighs lazily.

Well now he was just trying to torture her! Hermione suppressed the urge to complain and swallowed nervously again, trying to get her mouth to shape the sound. “Your… cock.” Her voice was quiet on the last word, but she was relieved that she didn’t stutter.

Draco smirked, cupping one of her breasts as a small reward and encouragement. “And where does my cock go?”

Hermione faltered. “In… Inside me.”

“ _Where_?” Draco growled and nipped her shoulder. She was fighting him, but she was also enjoying this, he could tell. If he slid his hand down to touch her, he was sure she’d be more than wet enough for him to give her what she wanted.

“In—” Hermione flinched and admonished herself mentally before determinedly stating: “In my pussy.” What a strange word.

Draco chuckled and slid his hand down her stomach to rest on the neat brown curls that hid the aforementioned body part. “And what do we call that,” he asked patronizingly, “when my cock is in your pussy?”

Hermione squirmed and tried to buck her hips so that he was touching her clit, but he moved his hand away. _Please, Draco. You know what I want. Just fuck me!_

“Tell me,” he said, resolute. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“…Anything?” Hermione asked after hesitating a moment, almost intimidated by the thought of what she could ask him for. He was always in control when it came to sex. He always made sure she was more than satisfied, and she had no real desire to upset the balance of power, but it might be fun to be able to ask him for things… if she had the courage.

“Anything,” Draco affirmed, before mentally adding, _within reason_. At this point, she wouldn’t have the courage or the imagination to ask for anything Draco wouldn’t be more than happy to give her.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked into Malfoy’s steely eyes, determined not to be embarrassed. “I want you to fuck me.”

Draco’s smile was devious and triumphant. “Then get on your knees.”

Hermione was ready now. She’d had no idea that saying those things would affect her, but now that she’d forced herself to say them, she felt a thrill of confidence surge through her. She got up on her hands and knees again and shivered when Mal—Draco kneeled behind her and placed his hands on her hips.

“Good girl,” Draco said as he caressed the right cheek of her ass. “Now tell me again.”

Hermione swallowed, but steeled herself, saying quietly, “I want you to fuck me.”

Draco smirked and slid his fingers between the lips of her pussy, ignoring her gasp of surprise as he gathered up some of her wetness. He suppressed a groan as he slid his hand over his own length, hoping to ease his entry.

“Again,” he demanded.

Hermione whimpered in frustration, but knew she had to obey to get what she wanted. Plus, she had to admit that being ordered around by him was exciting in a way.

“Please fuck me,” she gasped out, wiggling her hips in an effort to tempt him.

“ _Please_ , huh?” Draco let his middle finger slide into her teasingly, stealing more of her wetness to make himself slick enough to take her. “Well, in that case… say it again.”

Hermione was so desperate she was starting to get annoyed. Why was he doing this? Hadn’t she told him exactly what he wanted to hear? Hadn’t it been the truth? He had promised he would give her what she wanted. What was he waiting for? She couldn’t take much more. She craned her neck so that she could turn and look at him. Why did he always have to be so gorgeous? He was stroking his cock slowly and she could smell her own arousal that he was using to ready himself. The fringe of his now-dry hair was falling in his face, but his eyes locked with hers.

“Please fuck me, Draco,” she practically begged, her voice low with need. “I need you. Please don’t make me wait anymore. Please fuck me, Dra—”

Draco cut off her intoxicating plea as he gripped her hips and claimed her with no small measure of force. His entire body rejoiced at finally being inside her, and the gasp of pleasure and surprise that escaped her lips as he entered her was music to his ears.

Hermione forgot to breathe for a moment as her hips were pulled back against his and she immediately understood the difference between their usual position and this one. It felt like he was deeper, and there was this spot…. She tried to calm her breathing and relax, knowing she was going to have to prepare herself for more of that.

Draco paused for a moment and closed his eyes. Definitely worth the wait. He pulled out of her inviting warmth slightly before thrusting back in. He was rewarded with a grunt of pleasure that Granger had obviously not expected herself to emit.

She had missed him being inside her so much, and this new position felt absolutely incredible. Every time he thrust into her, her legs quaked and strange, animal noises were torn from her mouth against her will.

She felt even better than he remembered, and he never wanted to leave. He gripped the cheeks of her ass and pulled her back against him with every thrust, until she began pushing back against him, matching his rhythm. Her moans, grunts, and gasps filled the room and urged him to move within her, faster, deeper.

“I love the sounds you make, Granger,” Draco growled in a voice that was harsh with lust.

Hermione groaned at the sound of his voice and rocked her hips back into his, wanting to drown in the sound of his voice and the feel and the smell of their passion.

“Is this what you wanted?” He breathed the question along her back as he bent over her.

She couldn’t speak. It would break the spell. She nodded incoherently, focusing all of her attention on the rhythm of their movement and the jolt of pleasure she felt within her with each thrust. And then she felt another jolt, and heard a different sound, as his hand slapped down on the right side of her ass. She moaned involuntarily.

“Naughty girl,” Draco chided, running his palm over the offended flesh to sooth it. “Answer me: is this what you wanted?”

Hermione swallowed as her body continued to unconsciously move in time with his. It was pointless to resist him. “Yes, Draco… this is what I wanted.”

“Good girl,” Draco said with a satisfied smirk as he shoved into her roughly for emphasis. He was rewarded with a groan of ecstasy from those irresistible lips.

“What else do you want, love?” His voice was a low rumble, so intoxicating that Hermione didn’t care about that term of endearment that mocked her. He was fucking her, and it felt so good that she didn’t care about how that was different from making love. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

She knew what she wanted. That part of her was jealously screaming for attention even as the rest of her body was practically singing with pleasure. At this angle, perhaps he could reach…

“I want you to touch me,” she said with a voice that was laden with need, and it almost made Draco shiver.

“Where?” he asked innocently, though they both knew that he knew exactly where.

“My…” Hermione panted, nearly overwhelmed by sensation but still needing to get over her embarrassment. “My clit. Please.”

She was so sweet about it that he couldn’t taunt her anymore, and obligingly slipped his right arm around her waist. As his hand found her clit, he was careful to maintain their rhythm, his fingers stroking her in time with the movement of his hips.

Hermione gasped and her thighs quivered as his fingers stroked her firmly. He held her at the edge of the line between being taken over by pleasure, and being overwhelmed by it. She knew it wouldn’t take her long to come if he kept that up. This was it. She had told him what she wanted, and he had given it to her. This was a game she could get used to. The only other thing she wanted, she wasn’t sure he could give, and it would have been unfair to ask. This was enough right now.

He thrust and stroked with increasing vigor and Draco wondered why he hadn’t tried this with her before. Now he was going to have this incredible sex and then be deprived of it for weeks after he’d just gotten a taste. Life was cruel sometimes.

He forgot all about that, however, when the girl beneath him began to clench around his cock and the friction between them decreased slightly. She was going to come. He increased the speed of his finger on her clit and continued to thrust into her roughly, bending over her so that his mouth was as close to her ear as possible.

“Don’t you dare hold back!”

She wouldn’t. She would do whatever he wanted her to do. Her body was clutching around him and his fingers were slick on her clit and she didn’t care how he felt about her as long as he wanted to make her feel as good as she was feeling in that moment. Even that command made her feel wanted and sexy and it was only a moment before he had sent her over the edge.

She grasped the sheets beneath her hands and gasped and screamed and moaned as she clamped around his cock. She lost the control to keep moving against him and he took over, gently moving in and out of her pussy as it tried to hold him within her. “Draco!”

After a moment, he removed his hand from her clit, knowing that it was too much for her, and continued to move slowly enough to allow her to ride out her orgasm but still deliberately enough to give himself some pleasure. She felt amazing coming around him, and now he really, really wanted to join her in that contented post-orgasmic state he could already sense was washing over her. It wouldn’t take long. Where was his wand?

“Fuck!”

“Nn… yeah…” Hermione muttered as she savored the feeling of him gently moving inside her.

Draco grumbled. “No, I forgot the bloody spell!”

“Oh…” Hermione shifted, trying to regain feeling in her arms. What was he talking about? It was hard to pay attention with him still rocking against her.

“Shit, I can’t reach my wand,” Draco cursed, really hating the idea of having to pause this to get it. Only this girl could ever make him forget about that spell. There was nothing for it, he’d have to take a moment to find it. “Hang on.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione said once she figured out what he was talking about.She craned her neck to look at him and pressed her hips back into his insistently, urging him not to stop.

“What? You’re mental.” There was no way she was serious. Draco hadn’t pegged Granger as the type to tempt fate when the stakes were this high.

“It’s fine. I take a pill for that,” Hermione gasped, trying to keep her voice clear as her eyes rolled shut again. Malfoy wasn’t moving as earnestly because he was distracted, but she continued to move her hips back against his wantonly so that he continued to slide in and out of her with a roughness that had her panting for more. How was she supposed to try to explain a contraceptive pill at a time like this?

“A pill?” Like Muggle medicine? She had to be joking.

“I’ll explain later, just don’t stop!” It felt so good, she didn’t want him to stop until he had come too. She wanted to feel that completion.

Draco was very suspicious, but he was pretty certain that Granger wouldn’t play around with something like this. “Fine, but if this leads to a Draco Junior I take no responsibility.”

Hermione glared at him over her shoulder. “If I had my wand I would’ve hexed you by now.”

“If you had your wand I would’ve used it to cast the bloody contraceptive charm by now!” Draco retorted.

Hermione was exasperated. “ _Please_ , just don’t stop.”

How could he resist her when she was begging for him to keep fucking her? There was no point. He wanted to come inside her so badly. “Well, when you put it that way…”

He grabbed her hips roughly and Hermione groaned, a smile gracing her lips as she allowed herself to rest her head on the pillow and give her arms a break. It was her turn to listen to the sounds of ecstasy that escaped his lips as he thrust into her over and over. She cherished the feeling of power that came with knowing how much he wanted her. She was certain she wasn’t just another witch to him. If she were, why would he go so far out of his way to be with her?

Draco fought with himself as he struggled to maintain the sounds that were escaping him. He didn’t want to say her name. He had already made it far too obvious that he couldn’t stay away from her. He wasn’t going to use that name unless he wanted something from her. Everything felt incredible. He had missed that pussy more than he thought. But he wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.

She intentionally tightened up around him and he groaned. Wicked girl. Where did she learn to play so well? Ah, but of course. She had a good teacher. He thought of all the things he had made her say that night, and he increased his pace, listening to her whimper and sigh in pleasure, and it was more than enough. With a final thrust, he pulled her hips flush against his and came inside her, biting his lip so that he wouldn’t cry out anything. He could have told her he loved her when she pushed back against him to get him as deep as possible as he came. Such a quick learner….

Hermione hadn’t expected him to say anything. It hurt a bit, but that just wasn’t what their relationship was like. It would be unfair to expect that of him. And she still felt contented, almost happy. He had come to her, and they had given each other what they wanted. What they needed. Maybe it was fine to have that even without love. Whatever they had, it felt good. Why argue?

“Now wasn’t that fun?” asked Draco conversationally as he lay on his back next to her, letting the cool air dry his sweat as his breathing calmed.He felt a thousand times better than he had an hour previous. Who knew that depriving himself of sex would put him in a fouler mood than usual?

Hermione smiled at him and nodded as she moved to lie next to him, stretching her stiff leg muscles with a wince. Everything was sore, but she felt so satisfied. Had it only been a week since the last time she’d been with him? Christmas was going to be a nightmare! She supposed she had better get used to managing her passions by herself again for a little while.

“Now explain to me this ‘pill’ thing so I can start planning how I’m going to abandon my bastard child.”

Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes, delighted when he grinned back at her. It felt so good to be there with him, completely exhausted from the best sexual experience she’d ever had, seeing him return her smile. Maybe it was just the orgasm, but she felt truly comfortable with him then, and could not muster the strength to be irritated at his protestations as she calmly explained the way Muggle birth control worked.

*****

He was there when she fell asleep. He lay beside her (but not too close—not close enough to touch because it wouldn’t be _that kind_ of touch) and stared at the canopy of her four-poster in silence after she had become too tired to continue the conversation. Why hadn’t he just left then? She had known from the moment he climbed through the window that he wouldn’t stay. But she hadn’t questioned him, because part of her had hoped that he would be there when she woke up. She had listened to his breathing as she slipped into unconsciousness, savoring this rare opportunity to pretend that they had a real relationship.

She had awoken sore but satisfied and he was gone. His clothes weren’t by the fire and there wasn’t even a puddle on the floor from the rain he had brought in. But she knew he’d find her when he wanted her. And he always seemed to want her.

He was gone, but he’d be back. It wasn’t a real relationship. It wasn’t even a perfect arrangement. But he’d been there, in her room, and she was warmed by the memory. Every muscle in her body ached and her sheets smelled of sex and that spicy cleanness and the rain. 


	14. Density

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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He was a prize idiot.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair in nervous annoyance as he sat at the edge of his bed the next morning, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Perfect, it was Saturday. An entire day to try to force himself not to go anywhere near her with no lessons to keep him occupied. And Quidditch was over until after the holidays. Brilliant.

What the hell had he been thinking? Sure, the sex had been spectacular, but he couldn’t just leave it at that, could he? Not only had he shown up a day earlier than he planned to and given himself away as being completely addicted to her, but then when it was all over he’d actually stayed and had a conversation with her. They’d _joked_ , for Merlin’s sake. Honestly, witches were meant to be felt up, not chatted up!

And as if that weren’t bad enough, he’d stayed. He’d never forgive himself for that indulgence. He’d stayed until she fell asleep. And even when she had, he’d watched her for what seemed like hours until he was able to tear himself away. That had been no mean feat, either.

The worst part was that now he knew. He knew that there was no way he could survive all of the Christmas holidays without seeing her. It would be maddening, and his mother would sense his agitation before he’d been there a single day. It would be impossible to keep this from her. So if he was going to be humiliated no matter what, then perhaps he might as well not be deprived as well.

It was a horrible idea. But it wouldn’t leave his mind. It didn’t feel real even as he wrote to his mother explaining the situation and asking her permission. Now the only question was whether or not Granger would ever agree to such a plan.

*****

The last week of the term arrived and Hermione was kept busy enough studying not to notice that Malfoy hadn’t so much as glared at her in three days. They had hardly crossed paths since the previous Friday night, when he’d come to her room unannounced. She found that it was easy not to worry about what he was up to, not only because she was so distracted by schoolwork, but also because she was finally confident that he wasn’t getting tired of her, and would show up eventually. She just hoped that it wouldn’t be at a time when she desperately needed to study: she was already more worried about her exams than usual because of all the time she had spent with him instead of on her schoolwork.

As she left Transfiguration on Monday afternoon, she was almost surprised when Malfoy motioned for her to hang back in the hallway. He had been so quiet and almost well-behaved during the lesson that she had hardly noticed his presence. Quickly thinking up the most plausible excuse—that she wanted to get some studying in before dinner—she sent Ron on ahead and cautiously moved toward Malfoy after all of the other students had gone.

“Have you been hiding?” Hermione teased, feeling much bolder around him with the newfound confidence she’d gained on Friday.

He seemed as if he was trying to act aloof, and merely gave her a slightly annoyed look rather than rising to her jibe. It was so strange to be standing there alone in the hallway like that, without him pressed up against her, trying to get them both caught. Her body was tense, as if waiting for him to pounce. And a strong part of her wanted him to.

But instead he spoke. “Visit me during the holiday.”

His voice was low and demanding, and he watched her response carefully. He couldn’t be serious.Hermione nearly laughed before swallowing that reaction.

“W-what?”

“After Christmas,” he continued, as if this were the most natural request in the world. “I mean, go and see your family, but after Christmas, come to my home, and we can come back to school together.”

This was about as close to a polite request as could be expected from Malfoy, and Hermione was taken aback. Why would he want her to come and visit? Didn’t his family hate Muggle-borns? Her mind reeled trying to comprehend the implications of such a visit.

“But people will see us if we come back together,” Hermione protested, her eyes darting up and down the corridor worriedly.

“I can make sure we won’t be seen together,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, “and then when we get to King’s Cross you can go off on your own as if you’ve come from your parents’ house. No one will know.”

Hermione considered this. It actually seemed like a reasonable plan. That worried her. “But why do you want me to come? I don’t mean to be rude, but I didn’t think Muggle-borns were welcome in your family’s house.”

Malfoy visibly bristled, but continued as if she’d never asked the question. “If you can get to King’s Cross the day after New Year’s, I can meet you and we can floo. Is that enough time with your family?”

“Yes, but—” Hermione was bewildered and suspicious, but Malfoy cut her off by grabbing the front of her robes and kissing her roughly and possessively. Before Hermione had a chance to react, he broke the kiss just as forcefully and shoved her away from him to where she’d been standing before.

“I’m not asking,” he said, and his voice was almost a growl.

Hermione swallowed, realizing quickly that she had been a fool to think that they were now on equal ground. He still had a power over her she couldn’t explain. So what else could she do? There were hundreds of excuses she would use to justify her decision later, but the only reason she needed in that moment was that he’d told her to.  
“All right.”

It sounded as if the words hadn’t come from her own mouth. Later she would be frantic over what she would tell her parents and how on earth Narciassa Malfoy would react when she showed up at the Manor. But her mind was strangely blank as Malfoy’s stern expression shifted into a self-satisfied smirk.

And then it was as if the conversation had never happened. He looked her up and down once unabashedly, then became almost pleasant.

“Good luck with your exams, Granger. Happy Christmas.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment in confusion, and by the time the answering words “Erm, Happy Christmas, Malfoy” escaped her lips, he was halfway down the hall and only waved in answer without turning back. It took her several minutes to deconstruct what had just happened.

She was a prize idiot.

*****

It had been quite a feat, protecting the manor from Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Most of them had known roughly or even exactly where it was, and many had visited more than once, so it was pointless trying to conceal its location. The majority of the Order of the Phoenix had spent the better part of a month boosting the standard charms that made the manor unplottable and invisible to Muggles so that its security rivaled that of No. 12 Grimmauld Place, but many of those precautions would not work on the Death Eaters.

An Order member unknown even to Draco and his parents had been chosen to control the wards surrounding the manor, so that they themselves could not compromise their own security, and therefore that of the Order. Narcissa Malfoy was less than pleased with this arrangement, but there really had been no other option since Lucius was in Azkaban and Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore.

Only a few hours after arriving at Malfoy Manor, Hermione stood alone in the youngest Malfoy’s bedroom, waiting for him to return from downstairs. He had met her as promised at King’s Cross after supper (Malfoy wanted to avoid the crowds of Muggles on their way home) and they had floo’d to the manor together, so she had not yet even met anyone else in the house.

Draco’s bedroom really did look a lot like the way the Room of Requirement looked when they used it for their “lessons.” It did not look much like her vision of a young boy’s or a teenager’s room. Most of the furniture was made of a very dark brown wood, and all of the draperies, sheets, blankets, carpets, and tapestries were primarily shades of green, silver, and black.

There were large paintings on the walls: portraits of the Malfoy family’s ancestors and other distant relatives, presumably. There were also some landscapes, and even a few pictures of famous Quidditch players, which gave the room a slightly younger feel than the rest of the ancient manor house. It was still more than a little intimidating, however.

When it seemed like she had been waiting for at least half an hour, Hermione began to get impatient and a bit tired. There were a few bookshelves on the wall opposite the bed, and she perused the volumes with interest. The houses of ancient wizarding families were no doubt full of rare and fascinating texts. This had been one of the excuses Hermione had used to rationalize her decision to visit Malfoy after the fact: there was so much to be learned by being in an ancient wizarding house.

The fact that her parents thought she was staying with the Weasleys weighed on her, but how could she have explained to them that not only was she staying with the young man whom they had only ever heard of as being a bully, but that his family were dark wizards who hated Muggle-borns? The whole situation was ludicrous, and her parents would have told her so at once before forbidding the visit.

She’d also let Ron, Ginny, and everyone else assume that she’d be staying at home for the entirety of the holidays. Conveniently, Ron and Ginny had been planning to go home for Christmas because of the recent state of the wizarding world and because Harry was gone. They had invited Hermione even before Malfoy had asked her to visit him, but she’d decided that it would be a good idea to spend some time with her parents. All of that had made arranging to visit Malfoy a surprisingly easy endeavor.

Hermione felt guilty, but she also felt slightly liberated by the transgression. As much as she hated to admit it, there was something intoxicating about breaking the rules, and Malfoy only encouraged that kind of behavior in her.

After a few minutes of perusing the volumes (she got sidetracked by examining a spell that kept them from becoming dusty), she selected a book on wandmaking and took it with her over to the bed. It seemed like the most comfortable place to read, so she carefully climbed up onto it, arranging herself on top of the covers and against the many pillows. As she lay back, a familiar scent enveloped her, and she realized that the sheets, blankets, and pillows all smelled like Malfoy. The smell made her feel at ease and giddy at the same time, and recalled a dozen different snippets of memory at once.

Hermione had just turned the first page of the book when the door of the room opened, and the owner of that spicy clean smell finally entered. Malfoy looked surprised to see her in his bed, but when he saw that she was reading, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

“At it again? Isn’t your curiosity ever sated?” Draco scoffed, inwardly amused.

Hermione blushed and closed the book automatically. “I hope you don’t mind—”

Draco ignored her embarrassment and continued with a wicked grin, “No, I suppose no part of you is ever sated.”

Hermione’s blush deepened and she quietly set the book on one of the bedside tables, trying not to look at Malfoy. She didn’t know why it affected her so much when he talked about sex. It wasn’t as if it was anything new to her now.

“Honestly, Granger, I think we’re past embarrassment,” Draco scolded, rolled his eyes.

Hermione opened her mouth to explain, but Malfoy smoothly changed the subject.

“Mother is here, but you won’t have to spend much time around her if you don’t want to. She stays in her rooms, mostly, and the house elves see to her—Don’t start on about rights for house elves, Granger; I’m in no mood for an ethical discussion,” he preempted Hermione before she could protest. Hermione swallowed and remained silent.

“As I was saying, Mother is here, and she knows you’re here, but I doubt she has an overwhelming desire to see you. I assume you won’t be offended.”

Hermione scoffed. Narcissa Malfoy was not high on the list of people she wanted to meet, whether she was under the protection of the Order or not.

“Good. Then that’s taken care of. Now,” Draco moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to Granger, “you’re the first Muggle-born to be invited into this house in over two centuries. You’re also the only witch who’s ever been invited to this room, and this bed, for as long as they’ve been mine. Don’t you feel special?”

His voice was low and suggestive and even a bit playful, and Hermione’s cheeks pinked again. She felt very out of place in his home, in his room, in his territory, and it diminished a lot of her confidence. She nodded slowly.

“Why so silent, Granger?” Draco teased like a cat playing with a particularly delicious looking mouse. “Aren’t you going to show your gratitude for this honor?”

Thinking she knew what Malfoy was after, Hermione began to protest. “Right now? We’ve only just arrived…”

Draco chuckled at the expression on Granger’s face and shook his head. She was much too fun to play with. “Relax. A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice for now.The rest can wait until later.”

He winked and Hermione almost laughed, struggling to become less flustered. He seemed so much more playful now than she’d seen him in a long time, and definitely less malicious. “Oh. Well, thank you. For inviting me, I mean. And thank your mother as well for me, please.”

“She’d say you have excellent manners for a Mudblood,” Draco said nonchalantly, but with an inward grimace, “but all right, I’ll tell her.”

Granger smiled at him, and Draco thought that he’d better make conversation, because as much fun as it was to consider the prospect of staying in bed and shagging the girl for the entirety of her visit, it wasn’t really feasible.

“What are you reading, then?” Malfoy motioned for Hermione to move over on the bed, and he sat next to her, so that they were both propped up on the pillows.

Hermione was pleasantly surprised that Malfoy was so casually sitting next to her like that, as if they were friends. The last time they’d lain together in a bed had been that last Friday before term ended after they’d had sex in her bedroom. This wasn’t at all like that.

“Oh, it’s one of your books on wandmaking.” Granger picked up the book from the bedside table and showed it to Draco. He inwardly approved of her choice: he had always found the topic interesting. “I hadn’t really had a chance to start it before you came back, but it looks fascinating.”

Malfoy took the book from Hermione and looked over the cover. “ _European Wandcraft_. I don’t remember exactly, but I think this one focuses on the debate about which wand cores are the most effective. There’s another good one somewhere over there,” he pointed to the shelf next to the one the book had been on, “that discusses the possibility of using magical cores in other objects. Besides wands, I mean. Though that idea isn’t very popular.”

When he was done talking, she looked up at him and smiled as if she had never really seen him before. Which, of course, unnerved him.

Hermione could hardly believe that she was having an academic discussion, albeit a short one, with Malfoy without any sniping or teasing. She decided to take it as a good sign and be gracious. “Thank you. I’ll read those tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

Draco shrugged, trying to recover a semblance of distance between them. “It’s not as if anyone else reads them.”

“Well… thank you anyway. I’d love to have my own library of books like these. They don’t even have most of these in the library at Hogwarts.” Hermione’s eyes gleamed with excitement at the prospect of having access to the entire Malfoy library.

“Don’t tell me you’ve memorized the titles of every book in the Hogwarts library,” Draco said with some of his usual acerbity.

“I _have_ spent quite a lot of time there…” Hermione looked sheepish, but she could see that  Malfoy was just teasing her. It was strange for him to be ridiculing her and not really meaning it. He’d said so many horrible things to her in the past, and even lately he was never really nice to her, even though she enjoyed her time with him for other reasons.

Draco handed the book back to Granger and watched her intently as her eyes raked over its cover as if it were an extremely valuable piece of jewelry. He had to keep his own eyes from doing the same to her body. She had not had a chance to change into robes since they got back from King’s Cross, and her Muggle denims and jumper highlighted the parts of her he’d been missing over the holiday.

“So… where do I sleep tonight?” Hermione asked tentatively after setting the book back down. She fought the urge to yawn. It had been dark for hours, and it was now getting quite late. As comfortable as Malfoy’s bed was, Hermione didn’t want to fall asleep there accidentally.

Draco stretched and brushed his hair back out of his eyes with his fingers absently. It felt good having her there in his room, but that was precisely the reason that he shouldn’t encourage her to stay. He either had to seduce her or show her to her room, and she looked too tired for the former. “One of the guest rooms is made up for you down the hall. If you’re tired, I’ll show you where it is.”

Hermione stifled a yawn and nodded, forcing herself to get off of the down duvet. Malfoy got up and followed her to the door, leading her down the hall to the guest room that had been prepared for her. She smiled when she entered the room. It was a bit smaller than Malfoy’s, but still had plenty of room for a large bed, a wardrobe, some bookshelves, and sitting chairs. A fire was already lit for her, and that combined with the warm tones of the draperies and bedding made the room very inviting.

When he saw her smile in approval, Draco had to keep himself from following her example. It was just a bedroom, and he was glad she liked it, but it wasn’t anything to grin about. He closed the door behind them and was pleased to note that she barely noticed. In the past she would’ve become as alert as a rabbit cornered by a dog.

“It’s wonderful. Thank you,” Hermione said as she noticed that the things she had packed in a small travel case had already been put away in their proper places. She went over to grab her nightgown and debated about whether or not the fact that Malfoy was there bothered her.

Draco suppressed a grumble of disappointment as Granger turned away from him to change into her nightclothes. It was probably a good thing that she did, however, because just seeing her exposed back and the black knickers that did nothing to expose her ass made him painfully wish he hadn’t resolved not to take her tonight.

When her nightgown was on. Hermione turned back towards Malfoy and tried to pretend that she didn’t notice the dark look in his eyes and the flush in his skin. She turned back the heavy blankets of the bed and crawled in, sinking slightly into the mattress in a way that made her wish she could stay in bed forever.

He couldn’t decide if she was cute or sexy in that moment, and decided he didn’t care. He was enjoying it either way. Draco decided he needed to say goodnight and get to bed before he gave in and allowed himself to have what his body was screaming for no matter how tired Granger was. He walked over to the edge of the bed and looked at her. “Good night.”

Hermione smirked and, reassured by how playful Malfoy had been all evening, grabbed the front of his robes and tried to pull him down for a goodnight kiss.

Draco was unprepared, and his hand went out automatically to brace himself on her stomach, stopping his face so close to Granger’s that he could feel her breath on his cheek.

“Don’t,” he said shakily, his hand on her stomach rising and falling gently with her breathing, which made the skin of his face tingle.

Hermione felt foolish, as if she’d made a mistake. “I’m not allowed to kiss you?”

“You’re not allowed to kiss me and still go to sleep,” Draco said warningly, frozen awkwardly.

There was a challenge in Hermione’s eyes. “Is that a fact?”

“Don’t tempt me, Granger,” Draco’s voice was low and he felt shaky with desire. No, he’d waited over a week, he could wait one more day. “A witch as intelligent as yourself ought to know better.”

“A wizard with a reputation such as yours ought not to argue,” Hermione countered as a feeling in the pit of her stomach begged for him to kiss her.

Draco smirked. “You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

“I have before.”

“Before I wasn’t trying to wear you out.”

“Kiss me,” Hermione practically pleaded in a voice as tempting as she could muster.

Draco debated for a moment, then sighed. Slowly, he bridged the gap between their lips, until they were an inch apart. Then, as he could feel her subtly move towards him to seal their lips together, he swerved to the side and kissed her neck teasingly before getting up and walking towards the door.

Hermione grumbled in disappointment. “Git.”

A chuckle escaped Draco’s lips as he opened the door. It would be worth it, just to make her want it more the next day. And she was so fun to play with.

“Good night, Granger.”

A mumbled sounds of frustration was all he heard as he closed the door behind him.


	15. Compression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Hermione felt so foolish. She hadn’t been afraid of the dark since she was a little girl, but the manor was huge and ancient; full of strange creaking. It seemed as if some of the portraits were watching her when she wasn’t looking, and she just couldn’t sleep no matter how hard she tried.

It would be a bad idea. A _very_ bad idea to run to  Malfoy over something like this. Honestly, there was nothing to be frightened of in this house except maybe Narcissa Malfoy. All right, that wasn’t entirely true. The place could be filled with dark objects the Ministry and the Order hadn’t found. No, no, she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t as if some cursed object hidden in the basement was going to crawl up the stairs and…

There was nothing for it. Her irrational fears winning out at last, Hermione got up as quickly as she could and abandoned the room, padding quietly down the deserted hallway toward Malfoy’s room. She opened the door and stepped inside, giving her eyes a moment to adjust, for it was even darker in his room than in hers or the hallway.

Thinking he must be sleeping, she slowly crept over to the bed. Her heart was beating frantically. Now that she was here, Malfoy seemed just as frightening as any imagined dark creature or object, and she wasn’t quite certain that she wanted to wake him after all. Still, her fear of this familiar person was easier to handle than that of the unknown horrors Malfoy Manor might hold. Would he be angry with her if she crawled in with him like a little girl running to her parents after a nightmare?

“Well? You must be cold. Come on, then.”

The familiar and slightly smug drawl of Malfoy’s voice made Hermione jump, but she stifled her gasp of surprise. He sounded as if he had been wide awake for hours, and was unsurprised that she was there. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what she might be getting herself into. However, it was very cold now that she was out of bed, and her nightgown was too thin to provide much insulation.

Too cold. She needed to either accept his invitation or go back to her own bed. Part of her wondered with irritation why a wizarding family couldn’t keep its house from being drafty. But as she heard Malfoy shift to the side to make room for her, his scent wafted towards her and made up her mind. Moving to the side of the bed opposite him, she drew the covers back and crawled in. They were both silent for a few moments after she had made herself comfortable.

“Sorry,” Hermione whispered, and feebly tried to explain, “your house is so big and I… I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m beginning to think this whole Gryffindor bravery thing is a myth,” scoffed Malfoy as he turned to face her in the bed. Hermione could barely see him by what little light there was in the room.

“I’m still not used to old magical houses,” Hermione replied through chattering teeth, shivering because she hadn’t warmed up yet. “The Burrow—Ron’s house, I mean—was bad enough, and the Order’s headquarters had something dreadful around every corner.”

Malfoy growled in reaction and Hermione winced reflexively. “Don’t talk about him,” he ordered, but softened his tone a bit, “and come here, you’re shivering.”

There was silence for a moment as those last two words brought back echoes of another night in another bed. _I don’t care…_

Hermione felt foolish for having mentioned Ron, but was almost pleased by Malfoy’s apparent possessiveness. As much as she asserted that she didn’t belong to anyone, it was somehow empowering when his jealousy showed. She obeyed him quite willingly, moving closer beneath the warm sheets and duvet. To her surprise, he put an arm around her and pulled her to his chest. It was bare. He was very warm and his smell was familiar and comforting as always. After a few moments she was no longer cold nor frightened.

“Thank you,” she said softly against his chest, feeling more at home there than she had while visiting her parents. That was a very bad sign.

“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I pictured you sharing my bed,” Malfoy said as he rubbed Hermione’s back roughly to make sure she was warming up.

Hermione frowned guiltily, unfazed by his innuendo. “I’m sorry, I was just frightened. I can go if you like.”

Draco noted the hint of reluctance in her voice, and restrained her as she made a move to get out of the bed. “Stay.”

That one word drew her back towards him and she suppressed a smile as she relaxed next to him again. Hermione could now discern shapes along the walls of the room through the darkness. “How do you sleep with all of those eerie portraits moving around and looking at you?”

Malfoy shrugged and followed her gaze. “They’ve never not been there, so it doesn’t seem strange to me.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever really get used to pictures moving.”

Draco tried to envision still pictures for a moment, humoring Granger in his sleepy, contented state. She was warm now, and she smelled good. It was strange to have her in his home, in his bed with him. It was hard to care much about what a mess he’d made of everything by bringing her here. Maybe with no one around to catch them she might even relax a bit.

He hesitated, then said, “Sometimes I forget you’re a mud—that you’re Muggle-born.”

Hermione stiffened defensively, though she did appreciate that he’d avoided calling her a Mudblood. A few months—maybe even a few weeks—ago, he would’ve had no qualms about using that term. “Why? Because I’m good at magic?” Her voice betrayed a hint of anger.

“Partially, I suppose,” Draco answered, unperturbed by her irritation. “But also because you just seem so used to magic. It takes most Muggle-borns a lot longer to fit in.”

“I just read a lot…” Hermione blushed slightly in the darkness at the strange compliment she’d just been given. “I think magic is fascinating. Much more interesting than learning things like Maths and French, anyway…” She trailed off, trying to curb her academic excitement.

“Maths?” Draco asked with genuine curiosity. He’d never been very interested in the Muggle way of doing things, and yet lately he’d found himself increasingly curious about how Granger had lived before entering the wizarding world. He had a hard time picturing her as anyone but the witch who was top in every type of magic she tried. The witch who had inspired his academic envy at times. He’d never thought it fair that a Muggle-born could be so good at magic.

“It’s sort of like Arithmancy,” Hermione tried to explain, “but without magic.”

Draco groaned. Since he’d never even considered taking Muggle Studies, and he could sleep through Divination if he was sneaky enough (and he was), Arithmancy had always been his least favorite subject. “That sounds wickedly dull.”

Hermione giggled in spite of herself. “It _is_ rather boring, now you mention it.”

“Are you certain you weren’t born into a wizarding family and then adopted by Muggles after some tragedy befell your parents like Potter was?” Draco was teasing, though he knew there was a good chance Granger would probably take him seriously.

Hermione glared over at Malfoy in the dark, but answered him firmly. “I’m certain. I look just like my parents. Plus our genetic traits match up and I’m sure a DNA test would—”

She broke off mid-sentence because Malfoy was chuckling lowly at her while she talked.

“What in Slytherin’s name are you on about, Granger?” Draco couldn’t help but laugh at her fervor. It sounded as if she were speaking a different language, and she seemed to have no idea that he’d really just been baiting her.

Hermione huffed in exasperation. She didn’t like being laughed at, especially by the boy who had made it his business to ridicule her up until very recently. “It’s just Genetics. It’s all about why people look like their parents and how different species of animals are related and so on…”

She trailed off as Malfoy looked at her blankly, uncomprehending.

“It sounds ridiculous! Why bother with all of that?” Draco scoffed. In his mind, the business of parentage and lineage was very simple. “Either you’ve got Blood, or you don’t.”

Hermione sighed, giving up trying to explain and forcing herself not to respond to his Pureblood-minded comments. He couldn’t help the way he’d been raised to think. What use did the magical world have for something like Genetics? It sounded a bit strange even to herself now. But she was glad they’d had this conversation. It was one of those rare times when it felt like they were friends as well as whatever else they were (enemies, lovers, two people in a huge mess). She felt comfortable around him in times like this. Playful. She looked over at Malfoy and gave him a wicked smile.

“I’ll show you what’s ridiculous.” Without warning, Hermione pounced over to Malfoy’s side of the bed and began tickling his sides mercilessly. Perhaps she could break down that aristocratic reserve of his just for a moment. What was the worst that could happen?

Caught off guard by Granger’s sudden action, Draco began to laugh uncontrollably, a sound not often heard from him. The girl’s dainty fingers were attacking the sensitive skin of his stomach and he didn’t want to hurt her by fighting back too roughly. As it was he was certain he would hit or kick her in the midst of all his flailing. “Granger—Stop! Bloody hell—Agh!”

The two thrashed about on the bed, messing up the blankets and sending pillows flying in every direction. Low chuckles and their octave-higher counterparts mingled in the air: a symphony of mirthful agony. Finally, Draco was able to grab hold first of Granger’s right wrist, then her left, and push her back down on the bed on her back with her wrists pinned over her head. He stared down at her for a moment in silence while they both caught their breaths. He was straddling her hips, and was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that he hadn’t shagged her in a very long week.

Granger licked her lips, which were dry from her heavy breathing and as flushed as the rest of her face. She probably had no idea how tempting she looked, how vulnerable she was right now, unable to move, completely at his mercy. Draco smirked inwardly.

But before he could plot all of the ways they could make up for their week apart, she surprised him yet again. Without saying a word, she leaned her face up and kissed him. Granger had never initiated a kiss between them before, not in all that time they’d dallied. It seemed to Draco as if he’d kissed her hundreds of times. But he hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d never kissed him. It felt very strange. The kiss was soft and gentle, almost loving. It felt fragile, as if something bad would happen if Draco tried to turn it into one of the rough, urgent kisses he preferred. He felt that somehow he would crush her if he was too firm. He returned the kiss carefully, looking down at her with confusion in his eyes.His grip on her wrists loosened unconsciously.

After a moment, Granger broke the kiss and wrapped her arms around Draco’s back, pulling him down into an embrace. Draco tolerated it for a moment, then pushed her away and rolled off of her and back over to his side of the bed.

“I’m not your bloody teddy bear, Granger,” he said more coldly than he meant to.

Hermione shrunk back from Malfoy, aware that she’d gone too far. He would’ve tolerated the kiss, even enjoyed it, but the hug was so devoid of sexuality that she should’ve known it would irritate him. They only embraced when they had sex, mainly because their bodies were so close already that it was more comfortable that way. She was being stupid. She was treating Malfoy like he was her boyfriend, but he clearly wasn’t. That would require him to at least like her, if not love her.

And though Malfoy almost certainly loved his family and had perhaps even loved other witches, it didn’t seem very likely that he could love Hermione. Even if he was attracted to her, there was still so much about her that went against the things he liked, valued, and believed in. Just because he was no longer a Death Eater didn’t mean he was going to turn around and fall head-over-heels for a Muggle-born witch who happened to be the best friend of Harry Potter. And how could a Muggle-born witch ever love a wizard who had persecuted her for years, who was a former Death Eater and descended from Muggle-haters?

It was impossible, and yet it was so. She’d only been in his house for less than a day and already Hermione was being forced to face the inevitable conclusion that she might be falling in love with Draco Malfoy. If she was honest with herself, she had begun to suspect it weeks ago. It was far from rational, and it was sure to be unrequited, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t let him touch her, kiss her, make love (for lack of a better word) to her all those times without feeling anything. As much as she wished that she could. They’d spent so much time together, and she’d had a chance to have real conversations with him. She felt she was beginning to understand him a bit. After all they’d been through, she should at least be able to consider him a friend if nothing else. If she could have that, would she be satisfied?

Draco sighed, struggling with inner conflict. Granger had turned away from him and curled up on her side of the bed, giving him space. He’d been irritated with her for hanging on him like that, but he hadn’t meant to be cruel. It was strange to be kissed and touched by her like that. If she didn’t want him to respond sexually, he wasn’t sure how he ought to respond. She was trying so desperately to get an ounce of affection out of him, he could tell. He didn’t want her to be angry with him, or sad. He just wanted things to be like they always were, but something had changed.

Had she fallen in love with him? Did she think that his invitation to stay with him over the holiday was a sign of affection or commitment? If commitment meant not being involved with anyone else, then he’d been doing well. He hadn’t so much as thought of another witch since a couple of weeks after he’d started seeing Granger. As far as affection went, he certainly liked her. She was funny, even if she didn’t always mean to be. And intelligent, of course. She was beautiful and sexy and there was something about her that kept him coming back… That could be affection, Draco supposed. But love? That was a word Draco used very seldom.

“I’m… sorry.” Draco struggled with the words, but forced them out. Granger didn’t move or speak, still turned away from him. If she knew him well at all, she’d be properly shocked by hearing these words escape his lips. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just… not used to things like that.”

Hermione got over her initial reaction to hearing Malfoy apologize and slowly turned back over to face him, looking at him through the darkness but not speaking.

Draco sighed again, trying to end this as tactfully as he could. “Anyway, we’ve been up long enough, don’t you think? Come on, Gr—Hermione, let’s get some sleep.”

Hermione smiled slightly and nodded, yawning and making herself comfortable again. It was a small sign of good will, using her name, but it was a sign nonetheless.

“Goodnight… Draco,” she whispered.

“Goodnight.” Draco watched quietly as Hermione closed her eyes. After a few moments, her breathing slowed, and Draco could tell that she’d fallen asleep.

What did she want from him? Affection? Commitment? _Love…_

The word echoed through Draco’s consciousness with an imposing weight. Sure, he knew what love was. He loved his parents. He wanted them to be safe and happy, even when he knew that was sometimes impossible. He cared about what happened to them. He wanted to be around them, for the most part.

Didn’t he feel those things for Granger? Sure, and more. It was all rooted in and complicated by the intense compulsion to shag her brains out that arose every time she came into view. Certainly that desire had come first. He’d wanted her so badly, and he still did. She was a lover, that much was a fact. And a friend, perhaps. He liked talking to her. They were friends, then. Why not? Friends who happened not to be able to keep their hands off one another. No, friends didn’t have that kind of passion.

They certainly had passion. But Draco wasn’t fool enough to think that passion was the same as love. He was very familiar with passion; he’d shared it with many witches over the past few years, and he hadn’t loved any of them. Love hadn’t even crossed his mind with them.

Granger had offered him her passion from the start. Then, slowly, her friendship. And now there was something else being offered. He could see it when she looked at him in a way that didn’t signify that she was imagining him naked. He’d felt it in her kiss tonight, and in the embrace that he’d rejected.

She was offering him love. And he had no idea what to do about it. He wanted things to keep going on just as they had been going. But a witch like Granger… like _Hermione_. She wouldn’t keep messing about with him forever if he didn’t offer anything in return. And she shouldn’t.

So he was proper fucked.


	16. Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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The letter had arrived fewer than two weeks before the end of Draco’s term. Narcissa hadn’t been expecting to hear from her son then: she assumed that he’d simply speak with her when he arrived home if there was anything he needed to discuss. For a moment before breaking the seal on the envelope, Narcissa had been worried that something was wrong. Why else would he write when he’d be seeing her so soon?

Upon reading the letter, she’d discovered that something was indeed wrong, just not in the way that she’d expected:

_Dear Mother,_

_I have a request to make. I know it’s going to be a bit empty at the house this year and while I wouldn’t intrude on the actual holiday, I thought maybe it would be all right if I brought a friend to stay for a few days before we start school again._

_Yes, it’s a witch. No, it’s not Pansy. To tell you the truth, you’re not going to be very happy about it. I’m not very happy about it myself, in a way. She’s Muggle-born, you see. _

_You know I haven’t dropped all the thinking I was raised with, and I don’t expect_ you _to, either. You don’t have to see her, if you like. No one has to know, either. No one at school knows._

_I’m tempted to tell the Order just so they’d trust us a bit more, but I don’t think that’s wise at this point, seeing as she’s Hermione Granger._

_Looking forward to seeing you._ __

_Love,_

_Draco_

It had taken quite a bit of restraint for Narcissa to return her son’s letter cordially. The casual way in which he’d sprung this information on her was practically a trademark of his. She’d wondered with annoyance where he’d ever learnt to be so cheeky.

As if the fact that he wanted to invite a Muggle-born girl to their home wasn’t enough, the witch was none other than Hermione Granger! A girl whom she had only ever heard her son mention accompanied by insults and words of deepest loathing. And now suddenly he was calling her his friend?

There was absolutely no way that this girl was simply a friend. Draco had never brought any witch to stay at the Manor before, though Narcissa knew he’d been involved with more than one over the past few years. If her son was anything like Lucius, there had probably been even more witches than he’d let on.

Hermione Granger, though? Narcissa had known for some time that neither she nor her son could now afford to show open hostility to those of lesser blood, but she would never have expected Draco to become involved with one, let alone one of Harry Potter’s closest friends. The fact that the girl had agreed to become involved with him was even odder, Draco’s obvious charms aside. Stranger unions had occurred, Narcissa supposed, but what exactly was the nature of this relationship? At best, Draco was simply indulging a whimsical passion for the Mudblood, who might possess a certain attractiveness. At worst…

And the worst already seemed more likely than the best. Something about this one must be special, Narcissa had concluded, for Draco to ask to bring her to the Manor. She had waited for years for her son to take a serious interest in a witch, and now she wished he hadn’t. Why did the witch have to be Muggle-born? Why did she have to be Hermione Granger? What would Lucius think?

Whatever Lucius thought would not matter, however. He was gone and would not be back for a very long time if the Ministry had their way. It must have taken Draco a fair amount of courage to make this request. Narcissa wasn’t comfortable with the implications of that, but she respected the fact that her son had told her about this situation. She wouldn’t want him to hide things from her simply because he was afraid she’d disapprove.

So she’d decided to honor his request, and had written back within the hour:

_Dear Draco,_

_Any friend of yours will always be welcome in our home. Please let me know what arrangements need to be made. I’m not accustomed to entertaining guests such as Miss Granger. I trust you will assist me with the preparations._

_I will see you soon._

_Love from your mother_

*****

Draco awoke with a strange weight on his chest, and a warmth at his side. He opened his eyes to look up into the canopy of his bed, remembering that he was at home. If he were at home, though, who was sleeping next to him? He glanced down to find Granger’s arm draped over him, and the rest of her body pressed up against his side. She was still sleeping soundly, and her hair was an absolute mess. That’s right; he’d invited her to stay. Slowly, memories of the previous night and why Hermione was in his bed returned to him.

Draco gently slid the girl’s arm off of him, painstakingly slowly so that she wouldn’t wake. He didn’t take much time to look at her. His thoughts from after Granger had fallen asleep weighed heavily on his mind and he didn’t want to encourage them with further contemplation.Quietly, he slid off the bed and padded over to his wardrobe. He put on his robe and slippers as the manor was very drafty in the winter, and he’d only slept in silk pyjama bottoms because his duvet was so warm.

He crept down the stairs to the kitchen and asked the house elf to make some tea, toast, and eggs. Receiving its assurances that it would be done immediately, he proceeded into the dining room. He was surprised to find his mother there, but he nodded to her and took the chair by her side. She was reading the Daily Prophet with a frown. Draco glanced at the front page and saw a photograph of his father. The Prophet was still writing about Lucius and other known Death Eaters every now and then when it had no news about the Dark Lord to report.

The house elf from the kitchen brought in a tray with tea, milk, and sugar. Draco poured himself and his mother each a cup and added the milk and sugar to his and his mother’s individual likings. He watched in silence as she turned the Prophet to ashes with a deft flick of her wand.

“Good morning, Mother,” Draco said quietly, sipping on his tea as the house elf brought in his breakfast.

“Is it?” She was understandably in a foul mood.

“I suppose that remains to be seen…” Draco mumbled before he began eating his toast. He dipped it in the egg yolks even though he knew his mother thought it was bad manners.

“Didn’t that Muggle-born girl arrive yesterday?” Narcissa asked conversationally as she took a sip of her tea.

Draco replied tersely, “Yes.” He mopped up the last of one yolk with a half-eaten piece of toast.

“Do Muggles not eat? Where is she?” She raised an elegant blond eyebrow.

Draco paused, but figured he really had nothing to hide at this point, so he simply spoke as casually as he could. “Asleep in my bedroom.”

Narcissa smirked almost cruelly. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Mother, but she was supposed to sleep in the guest room down the hall. However, our house is apparently terrifying at night.” The corner of Draco’s mouth turned up slightly and his eyes became momentarily distant.

That was not the reaction Narcissa had expected. Either a flat out lie or a shameless affirmation of her innuendo would have been in character for Draco. But a calm and obviously truthful explanation? She might have even written it off except for that look on his face. There was no escaping the fact that he liked this one.

“I feel remiss for not welcoming her to our home when she arrived,” Narcissa said casually, watching her son’s reactions.

Draco’s split second of quick thinking did not go unnoticed by his mother. “It was late when we arrived. I assumed you wouldn’t be up to entertaining.”

There was a moment of silence wherein blue and gray eyes were locked in a delicate staring match. Neither’s masklike face betrayed anything.

“Are you protecting her from me, Draco?” Narcissa asked in an eerily even voice.

“What?” Draco blinked, losing the match. He shook his head as if the notion were absurd. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just didn’t think you’d want to see her. She asked me to thank you, by the way, for letting her stay.”

“Decent manners for a Mudblood,” Narcissa said nonchalantly. Draco couldn’t help but smile to himself ruefully at how well he knew his mother.

There was nothing for it. She had to meet this Muggle-born girl. She had to know what she was like and figure out how Draco felt about her. There was nothing to be gained by attempting to harm the girl, but making her feel too welcome might be dangerous. Narcissa’s main concern was what Draco was doing with her. Though she didn’t like to think about it when it came to her son, she understood that wizards had certain desires. She had never been severe on him about dallying with witches. But if this was more than that…

“We must all have dinner together tonight,” declared Narcissa unexpectedly. “What does she like to eat?”

Draco was taken aback by his mother’s abrupt question. What did Granger like to eat, come to think of it? “I—I’m not sure, actually.”

Narcissa smiled genially, looking every bit the cultured hostess she was raised to be. “Do you think a roast chicken will suffice?”

“I… suppose…” Draco replied confusedly. Deciding that it wasn’t worth arguing with his mother if she was determined to turn Granger’s visit into a social event, he gave her free reign. “I’m sure whatever you decide will be fine, Mother.”

“Excellent,” said Narcissa with finality. “Then I shall see you both at eight o’clock.”

*****

Hermione awoke to the sound of a door closing. The light peeking through the curtains was bright, leading her to conclude that she must have slept far later than she usually did. She also didn’t remember where she was for a moment until she registered Draco’s scent surrounding her. She rolled over and blinked a few times until the large blur she saw by the door focused itself into Draco carrying a tray full of food.

“What time is it?” Hermione asked as she sat up, pulling back the covers and shivering as her body adjusted to the temperature.

“After eleven, you lazy cow,” Draco said with a smirk as he put the tray on the bedside table.

“You brought me breakfast?” She was amazed and slightly suspicious.

“The house elves were about to get rid of it and start lunch. Eat it before I have to reheat it,” Malfoy twirled his wand in his fingers with an expression of studied unconcern.

Hermione was suddenly very hungry and reached eagerly for the eggs and toast. Draco went over to his wardrobe and began to dress. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye as she devoured her breakfast. She never seemed to tire of seeing him naked.

Draco took his time pulling on a pair of black trousers and a gray-blue button-up shirt, knowing that Hermione was watching. It was warm enough in the house at that time of day that he didn’t need to put a jumper on over the long-sleeved shirt. Once he was fully dressed, he turned back toward Hermione, noting that she had just finished her breakfast in record time.

“Someone was hungry,” he said with one eyebrow raised in such a way that there could be no mistaking the fact that he was Narcissa’s son. “If you’re hungry again before this evening, I’d suggest having a light tea. Mother’s invited us to dine with her at eight o’clock.”

Hermione almost dropped the cup of tea she was drinking, but she managed to recover and set it back on the tray safely. “Tonight?!”

Draco had to fight mightily to suppress the urge to burst out laughing. Granger looked absolutely horrified. “Yes, tonight.”

“Why are you laughing at me?” Hermione glared daggers at Malfoy as he began to snicker in spite of himself. She was having trouble deciding which she was feeling more strongly: fury or terror.

“She’s not going to bite.” Draco stood by the wardrobe and watched in amusement as Hermione rushed around the room, apparently trying to find her clothing and other things she needed to get ready without realizing that she wasn’t in her own room, and thus didn’t have any of her things.

“You’ve got over eight hours,” Draco drawled. “You needn’t rush quite so much.”

“But I haven’t anything to wear! And I’ll have to take a bath and start mixing my hair potions and—”

“Enough,” said Draco so firmly that he didn’t have to raise his voice to get Hermione to close her mouth immediately. He continued in clipped tones that demanded attention. “There are plenty of lovely robes and shoes and whatever else you need here. They’re all charmed to fit the person wearing them. The bathroom is down the hall near your room, and it’s probably stocked with all manner of hair potions.”

Hermione felt foolish for not thinking that such a big house would have all of these things. “But _why_ does your mother want to see me? I thought she hated me. You said she wouldn’t want to see me!”

“If you don’t stop this immediately I’m silencing you,” Draco said warningly, grabbing and holding Hermione by the shoulders. She looked ridiculous: she had been stopped in the midst of her frantic running around, so that her nightgown was half off and her hair was even messier than it had been when she woke up.

Draco reached down and finished pulling Hermione’s nightgown over her head, as casually as if he’d been opening a bottle of butter beer. This left her in nothing but a pair of maroon cotton knickers. Hermione shivered both because of the cold and because of Draco’s intense gaze as he looked her up and down unabashedly.

“There’s a sight I haven’t seen in a while,” Draco said with a smirk, sliding his hands down Hermione’s bare sides, feeling the curve of her hips appreciatively. When his eyes fell upon the scrap of maroon cloth, however, he growled.

“I thought I told you not to wear that color unless you’re in uniform,” he chastised.

Hermione looked up at him guiltily. “I just wore them to sleep in… I didn’t think you’d be seeing me… like this…”

“You have two options,” said Draco with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “You can either take those off…” one of the hands he had on her hips began to suggestively slide the fabric of her knickers down slightly, “or you can put your uniform on.”

Draco could not have been more pleased with himself as he watched Hermione struggle over the dilemma. She flushed furiously, more in anger than embarrassment. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of Granger in her uniform, as long as it was on his terms. Even if she chose nudity instead, he made a mental note to be sure to get her to sully that uniform sometime soon.

Hermione whimpered in indecision as Draco tugged at her knickers, pulling her towards the bed very slowly and methodically. “Draco, no, we… we haven’t got time.”

“You can spare an hour,” Draco said as bowed his head to lick a trail across the side of her neck, causing her to shiver.

“But—” Hermione’s eyes slid shut as Draco’s warm lips and tongue explored her neck and it felt as if it had been so long…

“Come on, Granger,” Draco said hotly against her ear. “Earn the night you just spent in my bed.”

*****

“This was a mistake,” Draco said lowly as he paced back and forth in front of the large bay window in his bedroom. He was fully dressed and ready and they still had nearly an hour before dinner.

Hermione looked over at him from where she stood in front of his full-length mirror, fidgeting with her dress robes worriedly. “What?”

“Bringing you here.”

Hermione stared at him in affronted disbelief. “You wouldn’t take no for an answer!”

Draco waved her down. “I know, I know. I’m an idiot.”

Hermione’s anxiety magnified her irritation as she tried to udnerstand his line of thinking. “Because you invited me here?”

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “Because I never brought anyone else here before.”

“Why should that matter?”

Draco gripped the window’s thick velvet curtain and resisted the urge to tear it from the wall. “She’s going to think it’s significant somehow.”

“Who?” Hermione walked over to Draco, hoping to make more sense out of him.

He blinked at her as if the answer should be obvious. “My mother.”

Hermione still didn’t quite understand. “What will she think is significant?”

“ _You_ ,” he growled, losing his patience.

She took a step back away from him and looked at him in silence, wondering where his sudden nervousness had come from. Hermione had thought she was the only one who would be at all worried about their dinner together.

Draco sighed and looked at Hermione as if in begrudging apology, but not saying the words. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. There was nothing they could do about it now. He just needed it to be eight o’clock so he could stop thinking about it. He needed a distraction…

“We’ve still got half an hour before dinner…” Draco took Hermione’s hand and drew her toward him, keeping her close without wrinkling her robes. He watched her eyes close as he dipped his head to her neck. Her skin was warm and soft against his lips and he wished they had hours before dinner. It hadn’t been enough earlier. He felt as if they had weeks to make up for.

Taking her lack of movement as encouragement, he latched onto the smooth skin, sucking and biting with restrained passion. She smelled and tasted so good, how would he ever pull away?

“Don’t,” she managed to breathe out through a strangled moan. As sore as she was from their earlier interlude, Hermione wanted nothing more than to forget all about dinner and let Draco take her back to bed with him. She didn’t want to see Narcissa Malfoy. She didn’t want to be wearing the beautiful robes that made her feel like an imposter. What if wizarding etiquette was different? What if there were extra spoons or something? Was there anything she could possibly say or do that would convince Draco’s mother that she wasn’t a worthless Muggle tramp who was letting herself be used?

Draco released her for a moment and licked his lips, but kept his mouth close to Hermione’s neck. No other part of their bodies was touching, and he felt unbalanced without that connection. “Why not?”

“You’ll leave a mark,” Hermione said in a low voice, fidgeting nervously. She had to control herself; they were about to have dinner. “She’ll see.”

“So?” Draco’s voice drawled and then faded as he ran his tongue along the outline of the love bite he’d just made.

Hermione shivered, but did not move. “You don’t care if your mother sees something like that?”

Draco shrugged and bit gently on the tender flesh again, working his mouth around her skin to darken the mark, emphasizing just how much he didn’t care. “She knows why you’re here.”

A groan escaped Hermione’s lips and she leaned into the warmth of Draco’s mouth on her neck, even though she knew a bruise was probably forming there as they spoke. “Please heal it, Draco. Even if she knows, I don’t want her sitting there thinking that I’m some kind of—”

“Mudblood whore?” Malfoy asked darkly against her ear before sliding his tongue from lobe to top around the edge.

Hermione shivered violently in reaction to the combination of his hot breath, the dirty words he had said, and tone of voice. “Yes…”

Draco mock-pouted and pulled away to look her in the eyes, challenging her to deny the effect his words had had. “But I thought you liked it when I called you that.”

The look on his face was so inviting, so hard to resist. Commanding, playful, seductive all at once. It wasn’t fair how easily he could make her want to do whatever he said. No, this was serious. She was about to meet Narcissa Malfoy and all Draco wanted to do was continue what they’d started a few hours ago.

“This isn’t a game,” Hermione whispered as she lowered her eyes.

Draco’s expression became more serious, but his tone was still relatively light. “That doesn’t mean it can’t be fun.”

Hermione struggled away from Malfoy and sat on a nearby bench, hiding her face in her hands. “She must hate me. I can’t imagine the things you’ve told her about me all these years.”

Draco looked over at Granger from where he stood and said simply, “People change.”

Hermione wondered for a moment which “people” he might have been referring to, but did not find his words comforting. “Yes, I’m sure she’s thrilled to have me here. You’re right, this was a mistake.”

“Why do you care what she thinks?” Draco asked as he gave her a probing look. He hadn’t expected Granger to give a damn about what his mother thought of her. Sure, Granger wanted people to like her, but she never seemed to go out of her way to gain the good opinion of people she didn’t respect.

“Shouldn’t _you_?” Hermione countered. “You’re her son, after all.”

Draco shrugged. “I do care. I’ve made a huge mess of everything and now I’ll probably have to endure snide comments about marrying Mudbloods until I’m thirty.”

“Marrying…?” Hermione’s face paled two shades in the span of two seconds.

“I told you,” Draco explained calmly. “You’re the only witch I’ve ever brought home. The Malfoy family only has one heir. She’s been waiting for me to turn seventeen since I was born, trying to match me up with every eligible Pureblood witch she comes across, and now I’ve probably given her the impression that I’ve got some ludicrous intention of—”

Hermione’s face went from pale to an angry pink within seconds, and her eyebrows knitted together in indignation. “I get the point. I’m not marriage material. No worries there. I have no wish to become a Malfoy, believe you me.”

“Too good for you, are we?” Draco asked in the most superior tone he could muster.

“Not good enough,” Hermione replied defiantly as she grabbed her wand and moved to the mirror to heal the mark Draco had left on her neck.

Draco rolled his eyes and said acidly, “Oh, Mother’s going to _love_ you.”

There was a pause during which each of them tried very hard not to smile. Hermione took that as her cue that their argument was over, at least for now. She stood up and straightened her robes, fighting the nervous butterflies that threatened to escape her stomach and wishing that it were all over.

“Draco?” she asked nervously as he combed his fingers through his hair one last time.

“Yes?” he stopped fidgeting and looked over at her.

She hesitated. It was so stupid, but she couldn’t help but think there was something she ought to know about how things were done in these families. “You wouldn’t happen to have a book on wizarding etiquette, would you?”  
Draco stared at her disbelievingly. “Granger, dinner’s in ten minutes.”

“I know, but—” Hermione fidgeted worriedly.

“No.”

Without further ceremony, he took her hand and practically dragged her out the door and down the stairs to the dining room.


	17. Volatility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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They had only just sat down to dinner and already Hermione was fervently wishing she had an invisibility cloak. Mrs. Malfoy had waited to seat herself until they arrived, and Hermione felt as if her appearance was being thoroughly scrutinized during the few moments they all stood by the dinner table. She was very glad she’d borrowed proper dress robes, even though she felt like an imposter in them.

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa extended her hand and clasped Hermione’s in a way that betrayed no disinclination to have physical contact with a Muggle-born witch. This surprised Hermione, but she was by no means put off her guard. “Lovely to meet you at last. Draco’s told me so much about you.”

Hermione’s instinctive response was _I highly doubt that_ , but she opted for something she hoped would sound slightly less defensive.

“All bad, I hope?” she joked timidly, but immediately regretted it. Mrs. Malfoy was completely silent and straight-faced, and Draco fidgeted nervously at her side. It was going to be a very long meal.

Narcissa continued as if Hermione had simply returned a polite greeting and led them over to their seats. “I’m sorry that my husband won’t be able to join us. I’m sure you’re aware that he’s otherwise engaged.”

Hermione swallowed nervously and her eyes darted to Draco for help, but he shook his head nearly imperceptibly. She decided that it would be best to simply nod in response.

“Do sit down,” Narcissa said almost too cheerily.

It wasn’t until Hermione was seated that she realized her legs were shaking. Why was she so afraid of this awful woman? They were only having dinner, after all. And really, what did Hermione know about Narcissa Malfoy anyway? Maybe she was a perfectly charming woman whose reputation was overshadowed by her husband. Perhaps if Hermione just focused on the food and tried not to speak too much…

Draco watched his mother carefully, trying to anticipate the direction in which their dinner conversation was headed. He looked at Granger out of the corner of his eye, and as the house elves brought in the first course, he could see her visibly restraining her outrage. How could he have forgotten her ridiculous obsession with house elf rights? He willed her not to say anything.

Keeping quiet became far more difficult as the house elves began to serve dinner, but Hermione was determined to let the issue go. She was a guest in this house, and this was just the way that things were done in most old wizarding families. Of course, Lucius had been very cruel to Dobby, but that didn’t necessarily mean that these house elves were mistreated. Even if they were, the middle of dinner might not be the best time to try to liberate them. Hermione took several deep, calming breaths and focused on the bowl of cream of celery soup that had been placed in front of her. It smelled delicious.

Soup. Great. This could only mean one thing: five courses. Seven, if his mother really wanted more time to extract information from the two of them. Draco resigned himself to a lengthy evening. He would’ve felt sorry for Granger if he wasn’t so preoccupied worrying about himself.

For a few minutes the only sounds were of silver spoons clinking against china bowls. Hermione felt as if she’d never concentrated so hard on not slurping in her entire life. She mentally thanked her parents for bringing her up with some semblance of proper etiquette. She might be all right on that score after all. There didn’t seem to be any extra spoons, at any rate.

Narcissa’s crisp tones broke the silence as she focused her attention on Hermione. Mrs. Malfoy was at the head of the table, while Draco was opposite her at the other end, and Hermione was caught in between them in the middle of one of the long sides.

“Draco tells me you have top marks, Miss Granger; that you’re Head Girl, in fact.”

Hermione swallowed and dabbed her mouth with her napkin before speaking. “Yes. I’m quite honored.”

Draco watched the conversation in silence. It felt like every fiber of his being was standing at attention.

“You needn’t be so modest. You earned the position, I’m sure.”

To this, Hermione simply smiled weakly.

Narcissa continued without demanding a response. “I’m sure that a talented witch such as yourself has many opportunities at her doorstep. What do you plan to do after Hogwarts?”

Hermione found herself alarmed rather than put at ease by Narcissa’s compliments. She hadn’t expected them, and they worried her. Was she being judged on her answers? Was Narcissa simply trying to be a good hostess, with no dark ulterior motives?

“If things go as planned, then I think I’d like to become an Auror… but I haven’t decided anything yet. As you said, there are so many opportunities. I can see myself being happy at the Ministry, but perhaps it would be nice to travel a bit first or even go to University.”

At the other end of the table, Draco flinched.

“University? Ah yes, those Muggle schools,” Narcissa said without malice as she recollected the meaning of the strange word. “What exactly would you study there?”

Feeling that this line of questioning couldn’t possibly lead anywhere good, Hermione backpedaled. How could she have been so stupid as to highlight her parentage? She might as well have been wearing a t-shirt that said ‘Muggle-born’ or put it up in a flashing magical marquee over her head.

“It was just a thought, really. I don’t think that I’ll go, I just… I just wanted to have a few options.”

Narcissa nodded her understanding and smiled in a way that reminded Hermione of Draco when he had a particularly nasty plot up his sleeve. She was very glad when the salad arrived so she would have something to distract herself with, even if Narcissa’s questioning did not cease.

“It’s very sensible to keep one’s options open, especially when one has so many. Draco is both lucky and unlucky in that some of his future has already been decided. He’ll manage the family affairs, as is his duty. And marry, of course.”

Both Draco and Hermione were practically frozen in fearful anticipation during these few sentences, but Narcissa continued as if this were nothing more than a casual chat.

“Do you intend to get married, Miss Granger?” She said this with an interested smile.

Hermione was taken aback. “Yes, I, well… If the right person were to… That is, I’ve always hoped I would.”

Naricssa nodded, still smiling politely as she took dainty bites of her salad. “Children?”

Hermione nearly choked, but hid it well. “I hadn’t thought—”

“Mother.” Draco’s voice was firm, his face expressionless.

Narcissa waved off her son’s warning with a charming laugh, as if he were being silly. “I’m just curious, Draco. I want to get to know your friend.”

The subtle emphasis on the word ‘friend’ was not lost on either Draco or Hermione.

Draco persisted, trying to keep the conversation light without letting his mother continue interrogating Granger. No good could come of that. “She’ll be here for another week. You don’t have to get it all out of her in one go.”

“Am I asking too many questions, dear?” Narcissa asked innocently.

As is often true, it was necessary to lie to be polite. “No, Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you for your interest.”

Having been given free reign by the person she knew wouldn’t be able to deter her, Narcissa continued. “It’s just that Draco’s never brought a young lady home before, so you must be special.”

Again there was a dangerous emphasis on the last word. They had officially come to the point that both Draco and Hermione had been dreading. The fatal mistake that Draco had made. He watched Granger carefully as she contemplated how to answer.

“I assure you I’m not,” Hermione said firmly, showing a good-natured smile to keep things light.

“Nonsense, Miss Granger,” Narcissa said with the predatory smirk her son had inherited. “I already find you fascinating.”

Hermione was used to this look, and though her heart was beating twice as quickly as usual, she managed a serenely polite reply. “You’re too kind, Mrs. Malfoy.”

The tension between the two women was palpable, and Draco wondered miserably how long this ordeal could go on. His mother had her claws out, and Granger had her armor up. It was like watching an epic duel in very slow motion. Between bites of spinach and endive salad.

And there were still three bloody courses to go…

****

Draco knocked on the door for the sake of politeness, though he wasn’t sure he was in much better of a state than Granger was at that point.

“Please go away. I just want to be alone.”

Ignoring her plea, Draco opened the door and stepped in, closing and locking it behind him. “Then you should’ve gone to your own room.”

Hermione was genuinely surprised when she looked up and found that she was in fact in his bedroom. She really had meant to go to the guest room. She’d even pulled off the dress robes she’d borrowed out of spite and was sitting on his bed wearing only a slip and her knickers. “Sorry… Wasn’t really paying attention.”

She wasn’t crying, but she still managed to look quite upset even without tears. Her face was pinked and her eyes had a strange quality to them. “You need a thicker skin, Granger,” Draco said as he walked over to sit next to her on the bed. “I seem to recall a witch who had a sharp tongue and a rather solid fist. What ever happened to her, do you think?”

“She’s gone,” Hermione said with a note of defeat. “And all that’s left is some spineless little girl who cares what Narcissa Malfoy thinks. It’s entirely your fault!” She glared at him half-heartedly.

Draco fought the urge to snap at Granger for a moment and tried to be reasonable (something that could be quite difficult for him to do). There were implications to her statement that he didn’t want to deal with at the moment. But she was right about one thing: he was at fault. The dinner had been a disaster, but his mother wasn’t a bad person. He understood exactly why she had asked every one of those questions. It was his fault that this whole thing had even happened in the first place.

“I know you won’t believe this, but she can’t help it. That’s just how our world is. You would--” He was going to say, _You_ _would’ve done the same_ , but as he spoke he realized that Granger really wouldn’t have done. She wasn’t that kind of person.

“I don’t know why I agreed to come here,” Hermione continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “We’ve made everything so much worse. She knows, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Order knew I was here, and it’s only a matter of time before someone at Hogwarts finds out and then—”

Her frantic high-pitched chatter was in stark contrast to the level calmness of Draco’s voice as he cut her off. “And then what? It’s finished?”

“I—” Hermione looked at him, shocked by the question, but he didn’t give her time to answer.

“Do you want it to be finished?” Draco shifted and pushed her down onto the bed in one fluid movement. He pinned Hermione’s body with his own and looked at her, knowing that she was feeling the same thrill he did at the fact that only their clothing (and there wasn’t much to speak of on her) separated them as he straddled her.

“No…” was the obvious answer. Neither of them wanted it to be over. Even if they wanted to stop, how could they possibly keep their hands off each other for very long? They both seemed determined to move recklessly forward with this no matter what happened or who found out. Narcissa was only the first.

“Then don’t care,” Draco demanded. His hot breath tickled Hermione’s face as he stared at her intently.

She squirmed beneath him, fighting his logic, which was inescapable but impossible to accept. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is. Stop caring.” His gaze bore into her, and if he had told her that the sky had never been blue, she might have accepted it as fact. But even as she nodded slowly in acquiescence to his order, she knew she was lying. She could no more stop caring what Narcissa Malfoy thought of her than she could stop caring about Draco. And as hard as she had tried to accomplish that lately, it was becoming even more impossible to do.

She was lying, and Draco knew it. She couldn’t just make herself stop caring about what his mother thought. About the torturous two hours they’d just spent over dinner. About how everything was only going to get worse. But perhaps he could. He’d make her not care, even if he had to drive every thought from both their minds to do it. And in the process, maybe he’d make himself not care as well.

“Tell me one of your fantasies, Granger,” Draco said softly as he released her and settled himself at her side.

She looked over at him, startled. “What? No, I… why?”

He watched the range of emotions play over her face with fascination. Confusion, denial, embarrassment, curiosity, all in a split second. “I know you have them. I’ve seen some of them, remember?”

Hermione’s face felt hot and she looked away from Malfoy. “I can’t…”

Draco placed a hand on Granger’s face and guided her head back so that she was looking at him again. “Tell me everything. Every detail, start to finish.”

For once in their relationship, he wanted to hear her talk. To hear her voice explain every minute detail of every unspoken desire she’d ever had. He wanted her to talk and never stop so that all he could hear or think about was her voice describing the things only he had ever done to her. And then he wanted to fuck her. Things made sense when he fucked her. Things made sense when all that existed was sex; no school, no friends, no family, no war, just skin and saliva and cum. When he fucked Granger, everything was simple and right, and nothing could touch him. It didn’t matter that he’d already had her once that day: the moment it was over he wanted it to start again.

Hermione considered his request for a moment, trying not to be affected by the familiar-yet-strange need in his eyes. The idea had some appeal, though it also mortified her. How would she ever get the words out? “You’ll think it’s silly. I’ll sound so stupid…”

“Just start talking.” He watched her intently.

She hesitated for a few moments more, looking at him anxiously, wondering what he was expecting. “All right… but don’t judge me.”

He made an insistent noise and resumed watching her in silence. It was more than a little unnerving.

She swallowed. “All right, I… I’m in my room at school…”

“Close your eyes,” he interrupted in a low tone.

Hermione obeyed him and let her eyes close. This made her even more aware of his presence, but in an exciting sort of way. She could feel, hear, smell him there. Every part of him seemed to be anticipating what she would say. “And I’m in bed, and… and you—”

Draco stopped her for a moment, wanting to make sure that all of this would be genuine. Not just a show for him. Something real that was caught up in that busy little head. He didn’t care who or what it was about: he wanted to know what made her wet, what made her come.

“It doesn’t have to be about me.”

She kept her eyes closed, hesitated, and then smiled. “All the best ones are about you.”

Never would he have anticipated that answer. The response was playful and even flirtatious, but also felt honest. He wasn’t sure how to feel about such an inadvertent compliment. “I… Go on.”

“I’m… I’m lying in bed, and I’ve fallen half asleep…” Hermione shifted to make herself more comfortable against the pillows. She tried to immerse herself in the fantasy, remember every detail, like Malfoy wanted her to. Her stomach quaked with excitement and she had barely begun. “You’ve somehow come to the window… like you did before.”

Draco watched as she licked her lips nervously, and waited for her to continue.

“But I don’t hear you because I’ve nodded off. And you come to my bed and you get under the duvet without waking me somehow… I’m wearing a nightshirt and knickers and you… you touch one of my breasts…”

Hermione gasped as Draco’s hand gently caressed the side of her left breast through the thin silk slip.

“Go on,” he whispered darkly as his hand moved over her breast, avoiding the nipple for the moment.

“And then… and then…” Hermione struggled to keep her eyes closed and made a sound of frustrated embarrassment as the feel of Malfoy’s warm hand provided a wonderful distraction. “I can’t. I don’t think I can say all of it.”

“Would you rather show me?” His request lingered in the air for a moment while Hermione’s mind raced back to the time he had forced his way into her thoughts in order to see her fantasies.

It would be easier to show him, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to let him back into her head. At least if she were telling him the fantasy, she would be in control. “No…”

“Then keep talking,” his voice was somehow encouraging and commanding at the same time.

She shook her head in indecision, trying to figure out how to proceed. “I…”

“I was touching you here, right?” Draco squeezed her breast gently for emphasis.

She gasped. “Y-yes.”

“Then what do I do?” he asked patiently.

“Then… then I begin to wake up, and you don’t want me to scream, so you… you cover my mouth.”

Draco cupped his left hand over Granger’s delicate little mouth and her eyelids flew open. He stared intently into her eyes, awaiting further instructions. Of course, he knew that she wouldn’t be able to talk if he stayed like that, so he slid his hand downward a few inches so that her lips were uncovered.

“And how do you feel when you realize I’m there?” he asked calmly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m frightened. Because… because this is before that time.” He understood that she meant the time he’d actually come to her bed. The night of the storm. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“No, I’m not,” he said with the smallest trace of a smirk. “Bad Draco.”

“And I’m… I’m not sure what you’re going to do.” There was a hint of alarm in her eyes. “What if you hurt me?”

“I do have a history.”

“I think maybe I ought to call for help, but you—”

In anticipation of her next words, Draco covered her mouth again, smirking as her eyes reflected the fear of her fantasy counterpart. She was good at this game already.

“Don’t scream,” Draco ordered in a whisper, trying to be the version of himself that belonged in this imagining. He moved his hand again so that she could speak.

“I… I try to get up, but—”

Draco moved his right hand from her breast to pin down her left arm.

“I try to reach for my wand—” Hermione’s right arm reached toward the bedside table where her wand would have been in her fantasy, but Draco’s other hand left her mouth and pinned that arm too.

“Tsk, tsk, Granger,” He smirked in predatory victory. “Not very vigilant. How will you get out of this one?”

She visibly shivered beneath him, and it was fear and arousal all at once when the real Granger and her fantasy counterpart inhabited her body simultaneously. “I think that maybe now I can scream because you’re using both hands, but—”

Draco leaned down and roughly covered her mouth with his own to silence her. She struggled like she hadn’t done since he first pursued her, and he was impressed by her dedication to this enactment. When he finally released her lips, she looked breathless and defeated.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that.” His voice dripped self-satisfaction.

She pleaded, looking desperate. “Please, just tell me what you want.”

His smile was confident and possessive, as if he knew he would get what he wanted. “You.”

“Please…” She struggled, but his hands held her firmly. Draco noted that if she really had wanted to escape, she was strong enough to put up a much better fight.

“You want it, too.” Fantasy Draco spoke through his voice.

“No, I would never—” The helpless version of Granger shook her head while the real Hermione unconsciously nudged her hips against his in want.

“Don’t lie to me, Mudblood.” Draco had stopped using that term around her, but he was certain that his fantasy self was not quite so conscientious.

Hermione shivered and tried not to reveal how much of an effect that word had on her. “I...”

“Relax, pet,” Malfoy purred in a way that was not reassuring at all. “I promise you’ll like this.”

Granger seemed to come back to her senses a bit, if only just enough to distinguish the part of herself that was relating the fantasy from the one that was a character in it. “And then you… You lift my shirt, and you… you lick…”

“Like this?” asked Draco as he roughly pulled Granger’s slip up to reveal her breasts and began lapping hungrily at her left nipple.

Hermione and Fantasy Hermione were one in their approval as her eyes slid closed again. “Yes, yes, just like that…”

Draco paused in his ministrations to examine the look of ecstasy on her face. “See, you’re already enjoying yourself.”

“No, I can’t—” The character was in control again.

“You can and you shall.” He dipped his head to her right nipple and began licking.

She groaned, but still protested. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He barely lifted his head from his task to answer her. “If I do hurt you, it doesn’t necessarily follow that you won’t like it.”

Hermione groaned as his tongue swirled around her nipple. He ground his hips against hers insistently and she could feel the extent to which she’d aroused him. Her fantasy self knew there was no escape.

“You…” Hermione-the-narrator gasped as he bit very gently on her nipple before soothing it with his tongue. “You promise that… that if I stop fighting, you’ll make it feel even better.”

“And I will,” he assured her as he moved to lap at her neck feverishly. There was just something about her neck, how she shivered when he kissed, licked, bit her there. The noises she made.

The fictional Hermione wasn’t sure why she trusted him. Maybe she didn’t, but it felt too good to argue. Draco Malfoy was in her room, and he wanted her. And this version of herself wasn’t as strong or as brave as she was. She didn’t want to be strong or brave. She wanted to give in. She wanted him to take what he wanted. She wanted to feel good now and worry about the consequences later. So she stopped fighting.

Draco could feel the tension leave her muscles, so he let go of her arms and used one of his own to hold himself up, allowing the other one to trail down her stomach to her knickers. She gasped as his fingers grazed over the thin fabric, and he felt her hips jerk up to get more contact with his hand. She was so hot, and there was a damp spot that urged him on.

She sighed and gasped as his hang stroked gently over the part of her that wanted him so badly. She resented the stupid cloth that he wouldn’t remove, and how it dulled the sensations. Blindly, for she couldn’t keep her eyes open, she began unbuttoning his shirt. It took far longer than she would’ve liked due to the fact that she had to do it by feel and that she was distracted by his fingers stroking teasingly over her, but she finally did it, and he pulled it off and discarded it.

Draco watched in pleased amazement as her hands wandered his chest down to his trousers. Her eyes were still closed, the silly little witch. He stroked her encouragingly, but still did not allow her the pleasure of feeling his fingers directly on her sensitive skin. He wanted her to really want it. She got the buckle of his belt and the button and zipper of the trousers undone with surprising ease compared with his shirt, and because he needed his hands to remove the rest of his clothes, he grabbed her hand and placed it over her knickers.

Hermione made a sort of surprised and turned-on noise as he guided her hand to her knickers. After an embarrassed moment, she began rubbing herself through the fabric, wanting so badly to slip her hand beneath the waistband and let her fingers get slick in her own wetness and slide over her clit again and again until she came. But she knew Malfoy well enough to know that if he hadn’t given her permission, she might regret it. It wasn’t fair! How could she want him so badly when not eight hours ago they had done this? She should be sore and satisfied, but even though she was a bit tender, her body was still begging for more of him.

Draco removed the rest of his clothing in record time and turned back to Granger. For a moment he simply watched her rub her slender fingers over the damp fabric that was visibly frustrating her, and then he moved back over her and pulled her hand away, pinning it and her other hand together above her head. She whimpered, moving her hips up toward him in an effort to regain some sort of contact. He pressed his leg down between hers and was delighted when she began rubbing herself against it, desperate for whatever friction she could get. He had seen her wanton before, but this was a sight to behold.

The game had ended long ago and neither of them seemed to notice.

“Tell me how badly you want it,” Draco growled as he tugged the slip over her head and pinned her arms again.

“So badly…” she breathed, unabashedly grinding her hips against his bare leg.

Draco hooked the fingers of his other hand in the waistband of her knickers teasingly. “I’ll give it to you if you ask.”

Hermione hesitated, eyes still closed and breathing hard. All pride had been abandoned. She felt there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him now. “Will you please, Draco?”

“Will I what?” he tugged on the elastic as she continued to press the damp fabric against him.

“You know…” she faltered, opening her eyes to look at him hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want it. I thought you would never—”

“Please…” she insisted, a note of desperation in her voice.

“Please _what_?” he persisted.

She groaned in frustration and her eyes squeezed shut again. “Please, touch… f-fuck… anything, please.”

Draco smirked. “Oh, don’t say _anything_ , pet. You might not know what you’re in for.”

“I don’t care,” she gasped as he traced his finger just underneath the edge of the waistband.

“Yes, you do.”

She opened her eyes and met his gaze defiantly. “No, I don’t.”

He moved his hand away and looked at her intently. She had stopped her frantic grinding but she was still glowing with need. “What don’t you care about?”

Hermione tried to tug her hands free so she could do something to get what her body wanted, but still Draco held her. She was almost crying, she was so frustrated. “ _Anything_ , I don’t care about anything except that I need you.”She hooked her legs around his hips and tried to pull him down against her. “I-I need you to touch, to be inside, I need you, Draco, please!”

Draco was still for a moment, his body pressed flush against hers, unable to distinguish where her need ended and his began. Her moment of not caring was beautiful to witness, and he wanted to join her in it. The cursed barrier of her knickers was done away with, and that long-anticipated moment of skin on skin was heavenly.

As he gave in and claimed the witch who was so perfectly ready for him, he found that there was not a thing that he could be bothered with so long as that heat surrounded him and the words _I need you, Draco_ rushed through his consciousness. He knew it wouldn’t last, of course. But he didn’t care. 


	18. Malleability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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The way he breathed while sleeping was familiar now. That was unexpected. They couldn’t have fallen asleep together more than half a dozen times. It was deep and even, and she lay for several moments with her eyes closed, just listening to the sound she drifted into consciousness.

His smell was familiar too, and her sleep-hazed mind registered it just before her own scent; the almost sexy comingling of pheromones that lingered through morning. Sound and smell aligned with touch as his breath tickled her cheek. A heavy weight on her stomach, pressure along her ride side, numbness in her right arm.

She opened her eyes with a smile to confirm what three other senses had told her: there was Draco, unabashedly close to her in the justification that sex and sleep provided. He lay against her side with his arm draped over her. She relished the sound, smell, feel, sight of him.

It almost didn’t matter that every muscle in her body hurt. She made a mental note to never have sex with Malfoy twice in one day again if she could help it. Or at least not if she had anything important to do the next day.

It was impossible to tell what time it was because the curtains were drawn, but it felt late. Hermione considered getting up, but Draco shifted and pulled her closer so that her back was pressed against his chest. His arm slid down around her waist, yet he didn’t appear to have woken up.

…Well, _most_ of him didn’t appear to have woken up. This new position made Hermione keenly aware of the fact that they were both naked. This realization left her with a dilemma: there was no way she could possibly handle a repeat of the previous night, but  Malfoy didn’t seem willing to let her go so she could get up. Maybe she should try to go back to sleep…

Warm lips pressed against her bare shoulder. She couldn’t help but smile, and whispered, “Good morning.”

The kisses moved from her shoulder up to her neck before he pulled his face away. “Morning.”

They’d never had this before. Never woken up together and lain in bed after a nocturnal interlude. It was nice. He seemed so… different. Relaxed. Not worried about her getting the wrong idea about how he felt. Not worried about anything at all. He held her close to his body and his fingers brushed over her stomach in a way that almost tickled. Hermione’s stomach muscles clenched reflexively and she groaned in pain.

“Out of practice?” Draco asked with a knowing smirk, smoothing his hand over her skin to soothe the nerves. She was so warm and soft.

“From now on I’m cutting you off at one go per day,” Hermione teased as she stretched her arms gingerly. Ow. How had he convinced her to switch over to her hands and knees in the end?

“If I skip a few days can I save them up?” He took one of her arms in his hand and began to massage her forearm. Draco supposed it was natural for her muscles to smart after last night. However, this was as much of an apology as she was going to get out of him.

“No.” The pressure of his fingers hurt, but she could feel some of the tightness begin to abate. She winced as he moved to massage her other arm. “Couldn’t you have tried to be gentle?”

“But you didn’t want it gentle,” Draco said lowly against her ear. He smirked again when she shivered. If there were any possible chance she would let him, he’d take her again before breakfast without hesitation.

Hermione flushed and almost wished she had the energy to give him what he wanted. “Clearly you shouldn’t listen to a word I say when I’m… excited.”

“I _only_ listen to a word you say when you’re ‘excited,’” he countered with a chuckle and nipped at her neck.

Hermione giggled and squirmed away from him so that they could actually face each other properly. They’d never get out of bed if he kept doing things like that.

“Well I can’t possibly do any more of _that_ in the near future, so you’ll have to think of something else for us to do today. That doesn’t involve your mother,” she added.

Draco cringed. “Don’t worry: I’m not keen on you two getting to know each other better, either.”

Hermione sat up and looked around for her clothes, remembering that all she had were the dress robes she’d worn to dinner the previous evening.

“Do you have any ideas, then?” she dragged herself out of bed and over to her clothes, ignoring the protests of her muscles.

“Books,” Draco said simply as he watched her bare form walk across the room.

She looked back over at him. “Books?”

He shrugged. “You like them, don’t you?”

“I think that’s fairly obvious,” Hermione said with a good-natured eye roll as she pulled the dress robes haphazardly over her head. She just had to look presentable enough to get down the hall to her own room to get cleaned up.

“Would you like to read some of ours?” Draco pulled himself out of bed as well but only threw on a robe instead of getting dressed. His first objective was a long, hot bath.

“Is that allowed?” Hermione asked with mock scandal. “What if this lowly Muggle-born witch were to learn a Malfoy family secret?”

Draco kept his countenance. “Oh, we don’t keep those books in the library. We couldn’t very well have just anyone knowing about our well-documented ties to Salazar Slytherin, the manticore we keep in the basement, or the ancient Malfoy family recipe for pasties made from the flesh of Muggle children.”

“Really?” Hermione mimicked his deadpan delivery.

“Yes. And there’s also a secret handshake.”

She finally broke into a smile. “I think I might have more respect for your family if there actually were a handshake.”

“I’m so sorry we don’t measure up,” Draco said proudly.

“You should be.”

*****

They were both clean, dressed, and fed before they finally arrived at the imposing double-doors of the library. Draco stopped Granger before they entered the room.

“Now, no drooling on the books. Some of them are very old.”

“Oh, honestly. Why would I—” Hermione scoffed as he turned the knob and the doors glided smoothly open. “Oh, my.”

“Indeed.”

*****

After a long day and evening of reading and academic discussions with Malfoy regarding Wandlore and Wandmaking, it was time for Hermione to go back to her own room so they could both get some much-needed sleep. She had desperately wanted to finish the last chapter of _Which Wand for Wizard and Which for Witch_ , but Draco had caught her nodding off and had taken the book away lest she drool in her sleep. ****

“You’re going to sleep in your own bed for once,” Draco insisted as they neared her door. They had spent a lot of time together that day. She wouldn’t be recovered enough to have sex again before bed, so he might as well use that as a reason to be alone and clear his head.

“Last night was not my fault!” Hermione protested. “You could’ve woken me and chucked me out.”

“I’m sure that would’ve gone over well,” Draco muttered.

“Fine. Look. I’m going to the guest room. See?” She marched toward her room in mock irritation and turned the knob.

Draco was unfazed. “Good. And don’t let me catch you sneaking into my room because you’ve had another bad dream.”

“I’m sure that would be awful for you,” Hermione gave a superior laugh and boldly grabbed Malfoy’s left arm to pull him towards her for a kiss to make her point. As soon as her hand closed around his arm, however, Malfoy’s face contorted into a grimace and he bit back an exclamation of pain. Stunned, Hermione let go of him immediately.

“Have I hurt you?” she asked with no small measure of concern.

Draco regained his composure very quickly. “You just surprised me. It’s nothing.”

“Liar,” Hermione said, upset by the fact that he thought he could fool her. “Show me.”

“Show you what?” he asked blankly, feigning ignorance.

She glared at him. “I’m not an idiot, Draco.”

Hermione grabbed Malfoy’s left arm at the wrist and rolled up his sleeve despite his several protests. The Dark Mark on Draco’s arm was an angry deep black, and seemed to writhe over his skin defiantly. It was so much more alive and horrible than it had been the first time she’d seen it on him. She was afraid to touch it. It was clearly taking some effort for Draco to contain his reactions to the pain it was causing.

Draco stared down her pitying look defiantly and yanked his arm away, rolling the sleeve back down. “I told you not to be bothered about it.”

“Why is it so dark?” she asked, half in academic curiosity and half in alarm. “It wasn’t like this before…. Does this mean he’s getting stronger?” The thought of Voldemort strengthening while Harry was out on his own was terrifying to Hermione, and her fear was evident in her eyes.

He pulled away from her and practically snarled as he spoke. “Why do you always have to go nosing about in other people’s business? Why can’t you just leave well enough alone? Believe it or not, Granger, but not everything concerns you!”

Hermione backed away as he lashed out. She hadn’t seen him this angry in a long time, especially not at herself. “I—”

“If I want to tell you something, I’ll tell you,” Draco said in a cold, authoritative voice.

“Excuse me for being concerned about you!” Hermione said acidly, railing in indignation against his assertion of power over her. “I’ll try not to make that mistake in the future. You know where to find me if you feel like telling me anything.”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed away from him, entering her room and slamming the door behind her.

*****

Hermione’s dream-heavy mind snapped into wakefulness at the sound of the guest room door closing. Her instincts told her to be on her guard, and she closed her fingers around the handle of her wand, which rested on the bedside table.

“Malfoy?” she asked tentatively.

“Who else would it be?” Draco stood by the door and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

His voice sounded much louder and more awake than hers by contrast, and it startled Hermione. As he came closer to the bed, however, and she could make out his shape in the darkness, she let go of her wand and relaxed.

“You said I should sleep in my own bed tonight,” she said in an icy tone.

“You will,” Draco replied, ignoring her coldness. He placed his hand on her shoulder, motioning for her to move over so he could crawl in.

Hermione moved away from his hand, but did not make room for him in the bed. She was still angry with him for what he’d said earlier. If he thought he was going to get her to sleep with him after all of that, he was sorely mistaken. “Not tonight.”

“Fine,” he said, a little annoyed that she thought he was sneaking in for a shag.

“You’re still here,” Hermione said with a note of irritation in her voice.

“Brilliant observation.” He rolled his eyes out of habit; she wouldn’t be able to see it.

Malfoy didn’t move, either to force his way into the bed or to go away. This only increased her annoyance with him. “Can I ask why?”

“Can’t sleep.” Her irritation was oddly satisfying to him.

“I don’t see how that’s any of _my_ _business_ ,” snapped Hermione.

“Shove over,” Draco said as he put his hand on her shoulder again, ignoring her jibe.

“Can’t I refuse to let you into my bed?” Hermione asked stubbornly.

She wasn’t going to beat him at stubbornness. “Technically it’s _my_ bed, seeing as it’s _my_ house.”

“You’re impossible,” Hermione scowled.

“Shove over,” he repeated firmly.

Exasperated, Hermione complied. Moving over meant that she got the cold part of the bed, while he made himself comfortable in the part warmed by her body. Malfoy wasn’t wearing a shirt and his skin was like ice against hers as he settled himself next to her. It was a miracle he’d been able to keep himself from shivering as he stood next to the bed.

“Anything else, Master Draco?” she asked scathingly, incensed that he would use the fact that it was his home as an excuse to get whatever it was he wanted.

“Go back to sleep,” he said as he pulled the blankets up around his bare shoulders.

Hermione was utterly bewildered. “What?”

“Go back to sleep,” Draco repeated, rolling over on his side so that he faced away from her. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all.

Hermione had no idea what to make of this behavior. Forcing his way into her bed after they’d argued, and then neither apologizing nor trying to seduce her? It made absolutely no sense. That was a bad sign.

“…Is everything all right?”

Draco’s voice was muffled by his pillow. “You ask the most idiotic questions sometimes.”

Hermione hesitated. “You could… you could tell me, you know.”

“No.” Why wouldn’t she just shut up so he could somehow try to get some sleep?

The brevity and finality of his answer took her aback, but she persisted. “I wouldn’t laugh, I—”

“Leave it.” His anger crept into his voice.

“I’m sorry…” She sighed, trying to let go of her frustration. “It’s just that you really don’t make it easy…”

“It’s not important,” Draco said in a tone that he hoped would end the matter. “Just, please… go back to sleep.”

Neither said another word, though Hermione struggled for a few minutes with whether or not she should let the issue go. Even after she’d decided not to say anything more, sleep was a long time in coming for Hermione, and even more elusive for Draco.They lay together in silence for hours, each feigning unconsciousness. Draco knew he would get little-to-no sleep no matter which bed he was in, so he might as well be with her. It was almost pleasant now that she wasn’t asking any questions.

Even though he was only there because he felt guilty. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t want to be alone. Because his arm hurt so badly. If it would just stop hurting, he could sleep. If he were strong enough to ignore it, then maybe she wouldn’t have noticed it and he wouldn’t have had to see her useless pity and he wouldn’t have yelled at her and felt guilty on top of the pain in his arm.

Stupid bint. There was no sense in her worrying about things she couldn’t do anything about. His Mark wasn’t some gauge for how worried she should be about precious Potter. He had wanted Granger to be an escape from all of the cock-ups he’d made in the last few years. Instead, she brought them into stark relief. And he couldn’t separate her from the Mark. Everything in his life was connected to the Mark.

That Dark Mark, black and excruciatingly painful in exactly the same way as on the day the Dark Lord had branded him the youngest living Death Eater. Draco remembered the exhilaration, the sense of honor. The Dark Lord had a task for him. For _him_. If he completed it he would be more revered even than  Snape. He could regain his family’s rightful place and no one would dispute the fact that he had become a wizard worthy of the name of Malfoy.

He remembered not knowing how to fix the cabinet. He was terrified for his life. For his parents. As much as he was ashamed to admit it, he cried like he hadn’t done since he was a child because he didn’t want to die. There was no way out. He served a merciless master and he would be shown no mercy if he failed.

He remembered the sense of triumph when he finally did it. He had created a passageway into Hogwarts. No other Death Eater had been able to do that. He had let them into Hogwarts. He would finally be able to kill that old fool who had underestimated how much of a threat he was. Everything would be as it should be.

He remembered the absolute paralyzing terror of the moment when he realized that he couldn’t do what the Dark Lord had ordered. He couldn’t kill that pathetic old Muggle-lover. His wand was aimed, but he couldn’t say the words. He couldn’t mean it. He was weak, after all. And then Snape had to do it for him and steal the glory. Draco wouldn’t be killed, but he wouldn’t be rewarded, either. And the Dark Lord had seemed… disappointed. Thrilled that Dumbledore was finally dead, but disappointed at not being able to punish Lucius by bringing about Draco’s death. Only then did Draco understand what his mother had known from the beginning: the Dark Lord had not meant for him to succeed.

The Mark had been on him through all of that: a symbol of the all-powerful presence of the Dark Lord in his life, the inescapable oath of service he had taken. A band of ownership by a master who had sent him on a suicide mission in order to punish his father.

He began to resent the Lord who took everything and gave nothing but pain, hardship, and death. They had wanted to make a better world; a purer world. But who would be left standing to enjoy it in the end? If the Dark Lord had his way, he and his parents wouldn’t live to see that day.

He swallowed his pride and did the unthinkable: begged the Order of the Phoenix for help. For himself and for his mother. For his father, too, if he were ever released from Azkaban. He went back to Hogwarts: one of the few places he might be safe from his Master. He studied for his NEWTs. He entertained the idea that he might pursue a career. This was a thought he had scoffed at less than a year earlier. He endured the blinding pain that happened every time he ignored a summons. He deserved to pay that price.

He let himself consider the idea that he could have the witch who had found her way into his fantasies for years. What did it matter now? Things could hardly get worse, so he might as well do as he wanted. Maybe if he had her, he could ignore the rest for a while.

He remembered soft lips pressing against the ugly skull. A Muggle-born witch embraced the symbol that had rallied his family and those like them to torture and kill her kind. She was absolutely mental. This was the symbol that had hung above the castle the night he had let the Death Eaters in with the intent to kill her and her friends and teachers. It was so very wrong of her to accept it like that.

Every ugly part of himself, she had accepted. Every flaw, outside and in. He had no idea why. He acted as if she should be honored to even get near him. As if he were better than she was, and that a Mudblood like herself should feel lucky to be noticed by him. Even when he convinced her to start seeing him, even when he was shagging her he never really stopped trying to make her feel like she was nothing.

It all seemed backwards now. Everything he had thought was low and unworthy in her was unimportant. What did it matter if she had Muggle parents when she was the brightest witch in their year? Was it so horrible that she was friends with the only wizard who stood a chance at defeating the source of evil that had practically destroyed his life? She was all goodness and forgiveness and it made him feel worthless and he hated it.

But he also hated being away from her. He was a fool for ever letting it get this far. It was natural for him to want her. But now he needed her. Less than a year ago he would’ve turned her over to the Dark Lord in a heartbeat. Now he was crawling in bed with her like a child because he couldn’t sleep. He wanted comfort from her. If he had given her to the Dark Lord then he could’ve owned her like the animal the Dark Lord said she was.

That thought chilled him. He wouldn’t want her like that. She couldn’t be who she was in a world that the Dark Lord ruled. He would kill her, or worse. Even if He gave her to Draco as a reward, she wouldn’t be what she was to him now; she would always be less. There was no acceptable place for her in the world he had hoped to help create when the Dark Lord had burned the Mark into his arm.

All of that seemed so long ago. He had turned his back on the Mark and fled to the arms of the impossible witch who slept beside him.

How much more would he have to betray to keep her?


	19. Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> * * *

When Hermione awoke, Draco was gone.She wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t been naïve enough to expect a repeat of the previous morning, especially after the argument they’d had that night. She should’ve known better than to try to get him to discuss his Dark Mark. If there was one thing he never wanted to talk about, it was his affiliation with the Death Eaters.

His visit during the night seemed dreamlike upon waking. He had definitely been there, and she had fallen back asleep before he had. She had listened to his steady breathing while resisting the urge to move closer to him. Whatever had been wrong, she hoped he’d at least gotten a few hours of sleep before leaving again.

It was less than four days now until they returned to school. How strange things would be then. Everything was already very strange. But at least here they could talk without fear of being overheard. They could sleep in the same bed and wake up together. Share meals. It wasn’t exactly a normal relationship, but it was a nice reprieve to be with him away from most of the people they knew. Even knowing that it couldn’t last. Even knowing that there were a host of complications they would have to deal with soon enough.

A house elf brought Hermione breakfast in bed. She smiled, hoping to befriend it, but it only delivered her tray and ran out of the room. She considered trying to trick Draco into giving it clothes, but she doubted Narcissa Malfoy would take kindly to her guest freeing one of her slaves.

Hermione bathed, dressed, and headed down to the library. She might never again have the opportunity to see some of the books the Malfoy family owned, and she wasn’t going to squander her chance. She was surprised to find Draco there. He was lounging sideways in a red armchair intently reading a book that was propped up on one of his knees. He didn’t look up when she entered.

“This Elizabeth character is after Mr. Darcy’s fortune, I’m sure of it,” Draco drawled. “Someone ought to warn him.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment. “You’re reading _Pride and Prejudice_?”

He smirked and looked up from the book, then held it up so she could see its cover: _Prominent Wizarding Families of the Twentieth Century_.

She blinked. “But you _have_ read _Pride and Prejudice_?”

Malfoy’s smirk widened and he returned to his book.

Her eyes automatically went to his left arm, which was covered by the sleeve of his grey jumper. With a sigh he closed the book and set it down on a side table next to the chair, then sat up properly so he could face her.

“I suppose you’ll want to read all day again,” Draco said, pointedly ignoring her focus on his arm.

Hermione met his eyes, trying to read him with little success. “Did you have any other ideas?”

“A few.” Draco stood and walked over to the double doors, closing them manually but locking them with his wand, which he drew from the sleeve of his jumper. As he turned back around to look at Granger, he was pleased to find that she looked both nervous and excited.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked as he brought himself so close that he was standing less than an inch away from her. No part of their bodies was touching.

“I’m going to find out how much you like books,” he said lowly into her ear. The timbre of his voice and the feel of his hot breath made her shiver involuntarily.

“The portraits might see us,” she whispered, unsure of how much that would bother her.

Draco pointed his wand at the nearest portrait and muttered, “ _Obscuro_.” Hermione had to admit that she was impressed as a blindfold appeared over the eyes of a likeness of one of Draco’s forebears. She’d have to remember that spell; it might come in useful in the future. As long as she could keep herself from imagining why Draco might need to know that spell in the first place. Draco blindfolded the remainder of the portraits,  then looked back at her, unmistakably smug.

Hermione fought the urge to smile. “They can still hear us.”

“Then you’ll just have to be quiet, then, won’t you?” he countered.

“No,” Hermione said curtly as she waved her wand. If her hunch was right, this spell would work on portraits as well as people. “ _Muffliato_.”

“What did you do?”

“They can’t hear now.”

“Really?” Draco walked over to a nearby portrait of a stately old woman with the unmistakable white-blonde hair and penetrating grey eyes of the Malfoy family. “Grandmother? How are you?”

There was no response. Hermione now wore a smug smile of her own.

“I’ll have to remember that one,” Draco said. He should’ve expected her to know an obscure spell like that one.

Hermione walked over to the chair that Malfoy had been sitting in and picked up the book he’d been reading. “Honestly, I’m surprised you would do something so predictable as reading a book about pureblood families in your spare time.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think that’s something I would do?”

Hermione gave him a puzzled look, then looked down at the book in her hands. The cover was the same as when he’d shown it to her, but when she opened it the pages were filled with pictures. Upon recognizing what the magically animated illustrations depicted, Hermione blushed.

“I’m sure you’ve never needed to bewitch a book to look like another book, but it can certainly come in handy during one of Binns’s lectures.”

“What is this?” Hermione asked, scandalized. “Wizarding pornography?”

“It’s pictures of people shagging the living daylights out of each other, if that’s what you mean.”

“These look old…,” Hermoine said thoughtfully as she examined the binding. “Is this some sort of Wizarding _Kama Sutra_?”

Draco shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but yes, it’s a couple of hundred years old. The positions in the book were used in magical rituals before that went out of style.”

“Draco, this is totally barbaric! I mean look at this woman—”

“Oh, I know.” Draco smirked. “And you can’t tell me you wouldn’t love that if you had the chance.”

Hermione stared at the page in front of her in dismay. It looked as if the woman were being magically levitated above the man so he could—

Draco laughed. The expression on her face was priceless. “They’re not all that complicated. I think you’ll recognize page five.”

Hermione flipped to that page and her face burned. That cheeky bastard! “I just—I can’t imagine why anyone would need magic to… to…”

“To fuck?” Draco asked as he walked up to the chair where she sat. “You know, it’s adorable how you still can’t say that.”

Hermione glared up at him, still holding the book in her lap open to page five.

“We don’t _need_ magic to fuck, Granger. You and I have been managing just fine the  Muggle way. But we don’t _need_ magic to travel either, do we?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Hermione said warily, unsure of where this line of thought was going.

“For instance…” Draco walked over to the wall and motioned for her to follow. “Come here. Bring the book.”

Hermione was suspicious, but curious. Malfoy held out his hand and she gave him the book.

“Now place both hands flat on the wall. Do you have your wand?”

“Of course,” Hermione said as she pulled it from within her sleeve.

“All right, now put your hands flat on the wall, but hold your wand.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and placed her hands on the wall. It was difficult to do with her right hand holding her wand, but she managed to pin the handle of her wand between her hand and the wall so that it stayed.

Draco flipped to a page near the beginning of the book. Then he covered her wand hand with his, twining their fingers carefully. He winced at the unnatural feeling that coursed through him when his thumb grazed her wand. He could see Granger react as well. Her wand didn’t like him. He could remember how strange it felt when he’d taken it from her that first time.

“We have to say the incantation together.” Draco held the book open in front of her with his free hand.

“Why?” Hermione craned her neck to look at him suspiciously.

“I’ll tell you in a second. Are you ready?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but looked down at the page. There was an incantation below the illustration, and she focused on that rather than analyzing the picture. She nodded.

Draco squeezed her hand, and they said simultaneously, “ _Adhaesum_.”

Draco moved away, sliding Hermione’s wand out from between her fingers as he removed his hand.

“Hey!” Hermione glared at him. She tried to grab her wand back, but her fingertips were stuck to the wall. “Oh, very funny. ‘ _Adhaesum_.’ I should’ve known.”

Draco leaned back against the wall next to her and smirked. He slipped her wand into his sleeve and held his own instead.

“Are you going to tell me why we both had to recite the incantation?” Hermione asked, not troubling to hide her irritation.

“So no one could do that,” Draco indicated her hands, “to you without your consent.”

Hermione arched her brow. “I’m not sure it should count as consent if you don’t tell me what the spell does before we recite it.”

“I guess you should’ve asked,” Draco said dismissively as he moved behind Granger and wrapped his arms around her waist. He pressed his hips against hers and rested his chin on her shoulder.

Hermione leaned back against Draco’s body instinctively. “I suppose it actually is a good idea to build in a safeguard, assuming that both parties know how the spells work.”

Draco inhaled the scent of her hair and rubbed her stomach absently. “We wizards do know a thing or two, eh?”

She stiffened and glared at the wall in front of her. “Why do you always have to bring up the fact that I’m Muggle-born?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Draco said as he pulled her curls over one shoulder so he could nuzzle her neck. “You’re a witch, Granger. Enjoy it.”

“I do enjoy it, thank you very much,” she said haughtily, a shiver betraying the fact that she liked the way his skin slid against hers.

“You see magic as a tool,” Draco mumbled against Granger’s ear, his hand tracing a slow circle over her stomach. “It’s a way of life.”

Hermione bristled defensively. “I use magic all the time!”

“You use it academically. You could be so much more… creative.” Malfoy muttered an incantation while holding his wand. He slipped his other hand under her shirt and splayed it across her stomach. It was very warm, almost hot. She shivered.

“Why didn’t I have to do the incantation on that one?” Hermione murmured as Draco’s supernaturally warm fingers traced a circle around her bellybutton.

Draco smirked and nibbled at Granger’s ear. “Because it’s not from the book. It’s just a modified warming charm.”

Hermione moved her head slightly away from Malfoy’s mouth, frustrated with his teasing. “Are you going to keep me stuck to this wall all day?”

“Only if you want me to,” Draco said with a chuckle, enjoying her annoyance. The temporary heat faded from his hand.

“My shoulders hurt.” She flexed her arms in agitation. She wasn’t so sure she liked being trapped like this if he was just going to toy with her.

“All right.” Draco waved his wand at her hands and said, “ _Libero_.”

Hermione’s arms fell to her sides. She rubbed her wrists experimentally. “Why wasn’t I needed to undo the spell?”

Draco shrugged. “Safety measure. It takes two of us to trap you, but only one to free you.”

Hermione was impressed, and had to admit that she was curious about some of the other spells from the book. “What, um… What other spells require that?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He smirked at her and held his wand up. “Hold my hand and look at page twelve.”

Hermione wrapped her hand around Malfoy’s as best she could, lacing her fingers with his so the wand could register her. She wondered why the incantations had to be done with one wand vs. two, but her fingers touched the wood of his wand and she felt as if she had received an electrical shock. She couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad feeling.

“See the incantation?” Draco asked and Hermione nodded. “Together then.”

“ _Ecstasis_ ,” they said simultaneously, and at first Hermione thought that nothing had happened. Then she began to feel very strangely. She was acutely aware of how warm Draco’s hand felt under hers. Was the warming charm still in effect? She looked up at him and noticed that his eyes had dilated.

It had been a long time since Draco had tried this spell, and before he had always done it alone. His skin felt like it was being touched all over, but the feeling wasn’t as concrete as a hand. It was more like hot air. It almost tickled. He watched as Granger experienced the extraordinary feeling for the first time.

“Did we cast it on you too?” Hermione asked distractedly. Malfoy nodded and then pushed her back against the wall, his body pinning hers in place. He blew into her ear and Hermione shivered violently against him. The contrast between the heat of his body and breath and the cold wall behind her was almost too much to bear.

He stroked his hands down her sides and it felt incredible. She was already wet and he’d barely touched her. They hadn’t even kissed. Judging by how he felt pressed against her hip, he was feeling similar effects. His mouth latched onto her neck and she felt as if she’d never wanted to come so badly in her life. No, it was too much. She felt like she’d been drugged.

“Too much,” she gasped as she clutched at his clothed chest. Blindly, she felt for his wand and took it from his hand, letting out an involuntary moan as she felt the same electric shock she’d felt before casting the spell, but magnified a hundred times. It definitely felt good this time. She shook her head in an effort to clear it, and managed to recite, “ _Finite Incantatem_!”

The sensitivity subsided almost instantly. She slumped against Draco, panting and trying to recover. His wand slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. He seemed fairly discomposed himself, and was rocking his hips into hers in a way that made her even more keenly aware of her own arousal.

“Not ready to give up that much control yet?” he asked dreamily.

Hermione shook her head, still trying to slow her breathing. He knew her too well.

“Maybe some other time,” Draco mumbled and buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. He slid his hand down between them and undid the button of her denims deftly.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked in confusion. She thought that there would be another spell or something.

“Finishing what I started,” was Draco’s muffled reply before he pulled his face back to look at her. “I told you, I don’t _need_ magic.”

He pulled down the zipper and then slid his hand beneath the waistband of her knickers. She was drenched. That spell definitely had some perks. Some day he’d see how long she could stand it before she came. Maybe if he used it while he fucked her… No, not now. She was hardly able to handle it as it was. He’d just have to do things manually.

Hermione’s breath hitched as his finger slid over her clit. She couldn’t believe how sensitive she was. She tried to imagine what it would’ve felt like if he’d touched her while they were still under the influence of the spell. She would surely faint or melt. She was already having a hard time remaining standing as his fingers showed her how the bundle of nerves he was stroking had reacted to the hypersensitivity spell.

Draco flicked his finger over her clit mercilessly, kissing and nipping at her lips and neck as he watched her skin flush with pleasure and listened to her contented gasps and sighs. There were few things that turned him on more than watching her come.

“Look where you are, Granger,” he murmured against her ear. “All of those ancient books… All of that history… And what are you going to do? You’re going to come. What a naughty little thing you are.”

Hermione tried to fight it. How was she ever going to have the energy to give him what he was after if he made her—Draco’s fingers slid over her clit again and she moaned, clutching his shoulders for support as she came. He smirked and tried to capture her lips as the tremors coursed through her, but she was too busy gasping her pleasure to focus on his kisses.

Draco muffled her moans with his mouth and looped his free arm around her waist to help hold her up. He was just about to shift her position so that he could slide a finger into her when a harsh screeching noise tore through the air. He froze.

Hermione looked around in hazy confusion. Draco stiffened against her for a moment before abruptly removing his hand from her denims, grabbing his wand from the floor, wiping his hand distractedly on his trousers, and then motioning for her to do up her zipper and button.

“What is that?” Hermione asked as she covered her ears and winced.

Draco grabbed her hand and began hauling her toward the door. He pulled her wand from his sleeve and handed it to her before unlocking and opening the door.

“Draco?” Hermione looked up at him worriedly, and when he looked down at her his face was more serious than she’d seen it in a long time.

“Use your head, Granger,” Draco snapped as the screeching continued. “It’s the Order’s klaxon spell. Time to go.”

“The Order? But their alarm would mean that—” Hermione swallowed and tried to keep up as Draco dragged her through the hallway. “Death Eaters?”

Draco didn’t look back. “One.”

“One what?”

“One Death Eater.”

Hermione’s stomach plummeted as they ascended the stairs. She didn’t like the tone of his voice. It didn’t hold irritation or anger. That she could handle. It was something else. Something that made her feel cold despite the effort it took to keep up with Draco as he urged her on as if her life depended on not stopping.

Maybe it did.

When they arrived at the guest room, Draco pointed his wand in the direction of Hermione’s clothes and trunk and said the incantation for the packing spell. At his command, all of the girl’s things began to fly across the room, fold themselves neatly, and land in the trunk.

“Is it your father?” Hermione asked tentatively as she tried to help with the packing. The urgency of his actions and the continued screeching of the klaxons made it very difficult not to panic.

Draco nodded as he began scouring the room for her belongings.

“But how can you know? Even if he did escape from Azkaban somehow, this house is protected by dozens of the strongest protective spells! How could he get in?”

“My mother will let him in,” Draco said distractedly as he closed Granger’s trunk and shoved it toward the fireplace. “If he’s still loyal to the Dark Lord, she’ll support him. She only took the protection of the Order of the Phoenix because it kept me safe from Him.”

“If she lets your father in, the wards will break. The Order—”

“Hang the Order, Granger! You need to leave now!”

“But where will I go?” Hermione asked frantically, trying to get Draco to calm down enough to look at her. “The train doesn’t leave for another three days!”

Draco grabbed her by the shoulder and looked at her directly. “The Leaky Cauldron. Don’t use your real name, change your appearance.”

He went over to the fireplace and found the pot of floo powder that was kept next to it, handing it to her forcefully.

“Please come with me,” Hermione pleaded, now afraid for Draco. Yes, Lucius was his father, but he was also a Death Eater, and how could he ignore the fact that his wife and son had been under the protection of the Order?

Draco shook his head emphatically. “If you go on your own I can say you’d had an urgent owl from your parents and had to leave early.”

Hermione had second thoughts about the situation. Maybe Draco was overreacting. “Do you really think he’d hurt me?”

“Let me put it this way, Granger. The Dark Lord is not very happy with my family. If Father gets his hands on you, we stand to gain a lot.”

“But why would Voldemort want me?” Hermione asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Malfoy backed her up against the fireplace and gripped her shoulder almost painfully. “Don’t be stupid now of all times, Granger! You’re one of Potter’s closest friends!”

Draco imagined her delicate form contorted by the Cruciatis curse, screams flowing from the lips he had kissed so hungrily, her brilliant mind battered and destroyed by memory charms and repeated Legilimency. And when the Dark Lord was done with her, she’d be very lucky if Draco was the one she was given to. He wouldn’t let it happen. No one would touch her but him, not to hurt her or please her. No one would see into her mind but him, especially since she would not be able to conceal from her torturers all that she and Draco had done together, and then they would both be damned.

Hermione seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Draco, and she finally looked properly terrified. Draco could hear voices downstairs.

“Go,” he said urgently, leaning to kiss her violently. “Now! I’ll owl you when I can, and I’ll see you at school.”

He let her go and practically pushed her into the fireplace. With one final glance, she grabbed hold of her trunk and threw her pinch of floo powder into the fire, shouting, “Diagon Alley!”

She could have been imagining things, but as the green flames leapt up around her, she thought she saw the tall figure of Lucius Malfoy burst into the room she had just left.


	20. Combustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> * * *

It had been six hours since she’d left Malfoy Manor. Six agonizingly long hours with no word from Draco. Hermione knew she was overreacting, but she couldn’t help worrying. Logically, Lucius Malfoy wasn’t going to hurt his own son, even if he did find out about why Hermione had been at the manor. On the other hand, the elder Malfoy was a known Death Eater, and his return might portend all sorts of things for Draco, Hermione, and possibly the rest of the Wizarding world. 

The Leaky Cauldron was probably as safe as anywhere else she could be besides Hogwarts and maybe number twelve Grimmauld Place. Still, Hermione couldn’t help being frightened. She had a nice fire going and plenty of blankets, but the room still seemed a bit cold, dark, and gloomy. Most of all, it felt lonely. It’d been quite a while, she reflected, since she’d been alone for that span of time without being asleep. There was no bedroom down the hall that she could run to if she had nightmares. Of course, that assumed that she’d be able to fall asleep at all.

Right now, sleep seemed like a distant possibility. It wasn’t yet midnight, and there was so much on her mind that to even try to lie down seemed pointless. Not only could she not stop thinking about what was happening at Malfoy Manor at that moment, but she was also faced with the thought of her imminent return to school. In three days’ time she and Draco would be back at Hogwarts, pretending to feel nothing but loathing for one another. It had been so wonderful not having to hide what was going on between the two of them for a little while, but she’d known going into it that it would be a brief respite.

Returning to Hogwarts would mean facing her friends again, too. Hermione realized with no small amount of guilt that she had hardly thought of Harry or Ron since Christmas when she’d received gifts from them at her parents’ house. She felt a pang of regret for the way she had been drifting away from Ron recently. And poor Harry was out there on his own and she hadn’t even been thinking about what he might be facing. She hadn’t even confided in Ginny much, even though she was the only person with whom Hermione could discuss her relationship with Malfoy. How could she ask Ginny to keep such a secret and hardly speak with her at all? How could she keep something so important from her two best friends? But she was so terrified of what they’d think of her if they knew….

A sharp rap on the door startled Hermione from her reverie and made her jump. At the second knock, she moved to the door and asked tentatively, “Who is it?”

“Auror Office,” was the official-sounding reply. The voice seemed female.

Hermione considered the situation for a moment. She was at the Leaky Cauldron. It was highly unlikely that Death Eaters would try to attack her here. Secondly, if the person were a Death Eater, there would be no point in pretending to be from the Auror Office to get Hermione to open the door when it could simply be blasted open. With her wand at the ready, Hermione opened the door a crack and peered out. The face that met hers was one of the last ones she expected to see.

“Tonks!”

“Wotcher, Hermione,” said a mousy-haired Tonks. Her tone was friendly, but her expression was serious.

Hermione smiled in greeting despite Tonks’ straight face. It was nice to see someone she considered a friend at a time like this. “What are you doing h—”

“Mad-Eye’ll lynch me if I don’t follow security measures,” Tonks interrupted.“All right, what does Ginny like me to do at dinner?”

Hermione blinked, then felt foolish for not remembering to check Tonks’ identity herself. “Change your noses.”

“Right. Now ask me one.” Tonks seemed impatient to dispense with the formalities and get into the room.

“Erm…” Hermione thought for a moment. “What do my parents do as a profession?”

“They’re dento… denter… They mess about with people’s teeth.”

“Close enough.” Hermione said, suppressing a laugh. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing here?” Tonks asked as she ushered Hermione back into her room and followed her in, closing and locking the door behind them. “It’s bad enough when one of Harry Potter’s best mates visits a place like Malfoy Manner without telling anyone, but it’s quite another thing when she almost gets herself captured by Lucius Malfoy.”

Hermione sat down on her bed and regarded Tonks with a mixture of shock and shame. “How did you know?”

Tonks gave her a look that implied Hermione should know the answer to her own question. “Malfoy Manor was being protected by the Order. I’m sure you know at least that much. My dear aunt Narcissa herself informed us that you would be staying there as soon as Draco told her. Had to keep an eye on you, didn’t we? It’d be a poor lookout if something happened to you on our watch.”

“You were spying on me?” Hermione asked indignantly.

“We call it looking out for you,” Tonks said as she sat down on a stool across from the bed. “Just checked in every now and again to see that you were all right.”

Hermione crossed her arms defiantly and looked away. “Well, I’m fine.”

“Luckily,” Tonks said without malice. “How’d you get out? By the time we showed up, you’d gone. I had quite a time finding you, too.”

Hermione paused, still not making eye contact with Tonks. “Draco. He, um. He helped me floo just after the klaxon started.”

“‘Draco,’ is it?” Tonks asked with an eyebrow raised.

Hermione’s cheeks pinked. “Is he… all right?”

“Dunno,” Tonks said with an indifferent shrug. “Soon as Lucius Malfoy got in all our wards failed and we had to flee the premises. Only had just enough time to make sure you weren’t still in there before we had to give the whole place up entirely. Seems Narcissa Malfoy only wanted us to protect her as long as her husband wasn’t around.”

Hermione finally looked up, her curiosity getting the better of her. “How did Mr. Malfoy escape from Azkaban?”

“Mass breakout,” Tonks said with a heavy sigh. “We’re going to have a rough time of it for the next few months. A bunch of the important higher-ups went back to Voldemort today. Dementors, too. I don’t think we’ll be able to send anyone to Azkaban anymore.”

Hermione swallowed and couldn’t think of what to say. She knew that it wasn’t her fault, but she felt bad for being involved at all. She didn’t like the idea of Harry being out there somewhere while Voldemort’s supporters were returning to him. A lot could change, and quickly.

Tonks seemed satisfied with Hermione’s silence. “At least you’re safe. Remus and Mad-Eye and them weren’t very pleased with you.”

“They weren’t meant to know,” Hermione said quietly, unable to conceal all of her bitterness.

“We had to make sure you were all right, Hermione,” Tonks said with a weak smile. “Besides the fact that Harry would go berserk if something happened to you, you also know an awful lot about the Order. We don’t want You-Know-Who knowing what’s in your head.”

“I’m not completely thick, you know,” Hermione began, though she did feel a bit foolish. She hadn’t thought of all of those potential consequences. “If I thought I’d been in real danger—”

“We know you’re not thick, Hermione. But you do keep some strange company these days.” Tonks’ expression invited Hermione to argue as she continued. “I have to agree with Remus and Mad-Eye about one thing… A bright witch like you, messing about with Lucius Malfoy’s son… It just doesn’t seem right.”

“Say whatever you like about Malfoy, he’s not evil,” Hermione said firmly in spite of Tonks’ look of incredulity. “Sure, he’s made some mistakes, but he wouldn’t intentionally hurt me. He’d never try to get information from me. If he’d wanted to, he’s had plenty of chances.”

Tonks still seemed skeptical. “Then why haven’t you told anyone about him? If he’s changed, then he could help us. He could join us.”

Hermione floundered momentarily as she tried to think of a way to explain something she didn’t quite understand herself. “It’s not that easy. He’s not evil, but I just… I just don’t know if he’s ready to give up on his family. On the way he was raised. I don’t know how to explain. And I haven’t told anyone, because, well… they wouldn’t understand. You know they wouldn’t, Tonks. I’ve told Ginny because I felt awful about it, but Harry and Ron, they… they’d hate me for it.”

Tonks was quiet for a moment, regarding Hermione thoughtfully. “It’s never a good sign when you’re doing something you can’t tell your friends.”

“If it keeps going on… I’ll tell them, Hermione promised earnestly. “When they need to know. Please, just let me have this one thing for myself, Tonks. We’re fighting a war. We all need something to hold on to.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Hermione,” Tonks said seriously. She was quiet again before seeming to make a decision. “Just be careful _who_ you hold on to.  Draco Malfoy’s part Black, after all. You never can tell which side we’re on.”

*****

It had been over a year since Draco had seen his father. He’d forgotten how tall he was. He’d forgotten how hard it was to feel like a man when his father spoke to him as if he were still a boy.

“Where is she?” asked Lucius Malfoy in a tone that brooked no denial.

Draco cursed himself for pausing as he braced himself against the mantle. The flames had just turned orange again. “Gone. An urgent owl—”

“Do not lie to me, Draco.”

Though it was difficult, Draco looked up and met the cold grey eyes with the cool mask of indifference that both his father and Snape had taught him. “It doesn’t matter why. She’s gone.”

“You’ve cost us a valuable hostage, Draco,” Lucius said disapprovingly. His voice betrayed the extent of his anger. “The Dark Lord would have been pleased—”

“I’m well aware of how you would’ve used her,” Draco cut in, careful to keep as much emotion out of his voice as possible. He was still gripping his wand tightly. He slid it back into his sleeve reluctantly. Though he was angry and a bit frightened, he had no wish to attack his father.

Lucius regarded his son appraisingly. “You seem a bit protective of this Mudblood.”

“I certainly don’t want her taken away and tortured.”

“Sentimental reasons?” Lucius asked with a trace of a smirk.

“Practical,” Draco said as if the answer were obvious. “She’ll be no good to me when the Dark Lord’s done with her.”

There was a pause as Lucius examined his son more closely, trying to make out what game Draco was playing. “You did not come when the Dark Lord called us.”

“No.”

Lucius’ eyebrow raised. “You have joined the so-called Light, then? Will you fight for the Order of the Phoenix?”

“I haven’t joined anything and I’m not fighting for anyone,” Draco replied with a studied air of mock boredom. “I’d mainly like to stay alive, although you seem determined to ruin everything Mother and I have arranged since you’ve been gone.”

Lucius bristled. “I assumed my family would remain loyal to the cause I followed.”

“ _I_ assumed a man who’d been left to rot in Azkaban and whose family was punished for his supposed failings might question the cause he followed,” Draco said casually. “Mother and I decided we didn’t much like the way our family was being treated.”

“That can change, Draco.” Lucius’ expression softened slightly and he reached his hand toward his son. “Call the girl back. I’m sure the Dark Lord will be very pleased. Pleased enough not only to forgive you, but perhaps even to let you keep the girl when she’s served her purpose, if you feel you cannot part with her.”

Draco scoffed. “I don’t need his help getting a shag.”

“Is that all she is, Draco?” Lucius asked silkily. “I certainly hope so. I hope you’re not harboring any illusions about further sullying this house.”

Draco’s cheeks pinked slightly. “Is that what you’re worried about, Father? That I’ll marry her and corrupt the bloodline?”

“Haven’t I reason to be worried?” countered Lucius. “You brought her to our home!”

“On a whim!” Draco protested. “She’s a toy, she’s a good fuck!”

Lucius shook his head in the way that parents do when disappointed with their children. “So you’ve got yourself a little Mudblood whore?”

His father’s condescension made Draco’s blood boil. His voice, in contrast, became icy. “She’s not a whore.”

Lucius laughed and continued lightly, “But you said yourself—”

“She’s mine and I’ll do what I like with her, including keeping her away from you!”

“Have you no loyalty, Draco?” Lucius’ anger matched his son’s. “Think of your family!”

“I do,” Draco said coldly. “But I can’t keep you from throwing your and Mother’s lives away following some sick halfblood, and you won’t take me down with you.”

Lucius’ tone became low, dangerous, final. “If you don’t bring the Granger girl to me before you go back to school, you are barred from this house.”

Draco held his father’s gaze and was silent for a moment. His father had never before issued such an ultimatum. He could only answer with an ultimatum of his own.

“Once I return to school I won’t be back here until you come to your senses.”

Lucius stared at his son in disbelief, then resignation. “You have three days, Draco. Spend them wisely. Think very hard about your priorities.”

There was nothing more to be said. Draco had hoped that when his father was freed from Azkaban there might be a kind word, a smile, maybe even an embrace. If he hadn’t brought Granger to the manor, there might have been. So many things might have been different. But they were what they were now. He nodded his understanding and left the room that had so briefly been Granger’s.

A part of him hoped that three days without her could actually change his mind.


	21. Stability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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“You knew about this,” Lucius said accusingly as Narcissa joined him in their bedroom. Though it would be his first night sleeping in a real bed again, he was too furious even to lie down. 

Narcissa’s expression was carefully blank. She had never thought that her husband’s return might be marred in such a way. She had missed him dearly, and now any chance of a joyful reunion had been overshadowed by their son’s hormonal whims.

“He told me when he wrote to ask if she could visit.”

Lucius watched his wife in disbelief as she changed into her dressing gown. “And you allowed it?”

Narcissa shrugged. “I confess, I was curious.”

“Did you give any thought to how I would feel about this?” Lucius paced in front of the bed.

“Of course,” Narcissa said seriously as she walked over to her husband, stilling his frantic movements with a hand on his chest. “But you were not here, and I thought it best to indulge his whim in order to determine the nature of their relationship rather than deny him and risk him doing something rebellious.”

Though Lucius was appreciative of his wife’s cunning, he still could not accept what had happened. “You don’t consider consorting with a Mudblood rebellious behavior?”

“You must concede that she is rather pretty,” Narcissa said reasonably as she moved close to Lucius and laid her head against his shoulder. His scent recalled a sense of safety she had not felt in a long time, even though it mingled still with the smell of Azkaban.

“Many of them are attractive,” Lucius scoffed, but he placed a hand at the back of Narcissa’s head affectionately. It felt as if it had been decades since he last felt the smooth strands of her hair beneath his fingers. All thoughts of her had been taken by the Dementors. It was impossible for him to express how it felt to be home. And Draco had ruined it.

“And intelligent,” Narcissa continued conversationally. “I can see why he likes her.”

“He can be fond of her as a boy is fond of a puppy,” Lucius snarled as he stormed over to put on his bedclothes. “He can lust after her as is expected of a boy his age. But it can be nothing more.”

Narcissa’s next question was hesitant. “And what shall we do if it is?”

Lucius stared at his wife. “Surely we have not raised someone who could be so foolish.”

“People in love are often foolish,” Narcissa said as she slipped into the bed in which she had slept alone for far too many nights.

“You cannot be serious,” Lucius said, trying to stomach the idea. He shook his head and moved to join his wife in bed. “Do not even suggest such a thing.”

Narcissa’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. “I have never seen him so affected.”

“It is insupportable.” Lucius gripped the expensive duvet in frustration. “If only he would give her over. The Dark Lord would forgive us if we gave him such a prize. I told Draco he could have her when she was no longer of use.”

“What was his answer?”

Lucius sighed. “He will not admit to having feelings for the girl, but he will not give her up. He would choose his Mudblood whore over his own family.”

Narcissa hesitated. “I do not blame you, Lucius, but Draco was made to suffer as a punishment to you. It must have been very hard for him. To take the Mark when he was not yet of age. To be given such an impossible task... I cannot imagine.”

She stared resolutely at the canopy of their bed. She had already shed too many tears over this.

“We have all suffered, Narcissa,” Lucius said gently. His hand reached out to turn her face toward him. She was so beautiful in the half-light of their bedroom. He wanted to stop the pain that he could see in her eyes. But only his son had the power to do that.“He can end that, if only he would listen. What is one Mudblood in exchange for the good favor of the Dark Lord?”

Narcissa pressed her cheek against her husband’s roughened palm. “If he loves her...”

“Then he is twice the fool.”

Narcissa was utterly and painfully conflicted. It would be so wonderful for everything to be all right again. For the three of them to be a family, and to be respected once more. But she knew that she could not control the actions of her son. And she loved him too dearly to try. “He’s our son, Lucius. And he is of age now. He must make his own decisions.”

“Indeed he must,” Lucius said with resignation. “And he has. So I must do what is in the best interests of this family. Draco will not be allowed home again until he sees reason.”

Narcissa looked at her husband in shock. When she spoke, her voice was cold. “The Dark Lord and Azkaban have already divided this family. Will you part us forever?”

Lucius returned his wife’s look with one that pleaded for understanding. “You are not the only one who loves him, Narcissa.”

Narcissa was quiet for a moment. She reached to brush a stray lock of blond hair, now dull from neglect, away from his face. “Then do not drive him away.”

Lucius pulled his wife close, wrapping his arm around her slight form. She was so warm, so soft, and he wanted to tell her whatever she wanted to hear. He wanted to make up for all of the time she had been left alone. But he was not free to do as he wanted.

“I will do what’s best for all of us, and hope that he will decide to do so as well.”

*****

There was no way to win, Draco thought bitterly as he removed the charms from the portraits in the library. Thankfully, no one had noticed yet. His father didn’t need another reason to be furious with him at that point.

No matter what he decided, he was basically fucked.

He couldn’t do this to his parents. He couldn’t deny them what might be their only chance of regaining the respect and status they deserved. He couldn’t walk away from them simply because they wouldn’t abandon the principles they were raised with. He hated that his father didn’t have the courage to leave the service of the Dark Lord. But then, what else could Lucius do? If their family defected, Draco was sure that not even all the members of the Order of the Phoenix could protect them from the wrath of the Dark Lord.

His parents had done nothing to deserve this kind of betrayal from him. All they had ever done was feed him, clothe him, love him, teach him their values. His mother had always been better at showing her love for him, but Draco was old enough now to understand that his father’s distance arose from his upbringing rather than a lack of affection for Draco. Could he really abandon them for the sake of one Muggle-born girl? What did the life of Hermione Granger matter, in the grand scheme of things?

It would be so simple to find her, convince her to come back, give her over to his father. Then his family would be forgiven. The Dark Lord would favor them again, and everything would be all right.

Except that she’d be destroyed. Mind, soul, and then body. And even if he were a better Occlumens than Snape, he wouldn’t be able to stand before the Dark Lord and swear that she meant nothing to him while his fellow Death Eaters did to her what could only be described as rape, though it went far beyond the flesh.

And even that wouldn’t end it. Because the Dark Lord would punish his family the next time He thought they’d failed Him in some way. And Granger, who admittedly had become so much more than a good shag, would be gone forever. And if the information they drew from her led to Potter’s downfall, then everything she cared about would be destroyed as well. And what would he be left with?

His family.

Well, that was something. But not enough. There were other ways for his parents to get out. Ways that didn’t involve destroying the one person who gave him comfort.

There was only one choice, in the end. There had always only been one choice. That was it, then. Barring some miracle, he was on his own for the foreseeable future.

He had betrayed the Dark Lord, his own beliefs, and possibly his future so that he could keep Granger. Now he was going to betray his mother and father. Perhaps he should start a tally.

*****

_G,_

_I’m fine. I think our short friendship with the Order of the Phoenix has ended. Don’t leave where you are until you go to go catch the train. Don’t do anything stupid. You should be safe._

_X_

*****

_X,_

_Your owl doesn’t like me. Maybe it’s my blood. I’m sure he could smell it much better after he nearly took my finger off. I’m sure I’ll be fine here. See you on the train._

_H_

*****

Hermione boarded the Hogwarts Express before Ron, who always seemed to arrive at the last second. She wrestled her trunk down the corridor towards the Prefects’ compartment, but found it empty. Sometimes punctuality was inconvenient.

As she was about to enter the empty compartment to put down her things, a hand reached out from across the corridor and pulled her, trunk and all, into the opposite compartment, closing and locking the door behind them.

“Stop doing that!” Hermione hissed indignantly, recovering from her surprise. It was a miracle her arm hadn’t been yanked off by her trunk, which had been thrown against the back wall of the compartment. Malfoy lacked many qualities, and notable among them was finesse.

“I didn’t want anyone to see,” replied Draco, emphasizing his point by casting an obscuring charm on the small window in the compartment’s door. Without further ceremony, he pushed Granger down onto the floor of the compartment and straddled her, kissing her roughly. He hadn’t been prepared for the rush of relief he’d experienced at seeing her alive and unharmed. He hadn’t realized how much he had actually been worried that something might happen to her.

“Draco, no!” Hermione broke away from his lips, feeling dazed. She struggled beneath him, trying to fight off his advances as well as her own body’s reactions to them. Had it really only been three days? “I’ve got to go to the Prefects’ compartment!”

“No, not until I make sure no one’s touched you.” He knew that she was fine; that neither his father nor the other Death Eaters had had any idea where she’d been for the past three days, and that now she was safely back on the train and on her way to Hogwarts. Still, he needed reassuring. After all, there was a very small chance she could’ve been captured and put under the Imperius Curse or replaced by an imposter using the Polyjuice Potion.

Hermione impatiently attempted to shove him off of her so she could get up. “You’re being ridiculous. You can see that I’m fine. I got to the Leaky Cauldron safely and used a false name and the Order dropped in to check on me! Now will you let me up?”

Draco glared at her defiantly, continuing to pin her to the compartment floor. “No. I told you I want to make sure no one’s… that you’re all right.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Let me use Legilimency on you.” It was not a request, but he needed her permission.

“What? No!” was Hermione’s gut reaction.

Draco looked down at her sternly, his voice level as he spoke. “Can’t you trust me?”

She held his gaze in haughty defiance and said nothing. Could she?

“Please,” Draco said through gritted teeth.

There was something in his eyes. Something strange, some irrational fear. There was rarely ever fear there. She wanted to make it go away. She wanted to reassure him that everything was all right. Could that fear really be for her sake?

“All right…” She hesitated. “But only for a moment. You know you’re being ridiculous.”

Draco did not return the small humoring smile she gave him.

“But you’ve got to let me up!” Hermione insisted, struggling beneath his weight.

“What?” Draco looked momentarily confused, having completely forgotten that he had Granger pinned to the floor. “Right.”

He released her and stood up, moving to sit on one of the compartment’s benches by the window. He motioned for Hermione to sit next to him. After a moment of second thoughts, she joined him, waiting patiently for him to begin, trying to prepare herself and resist the urge to fight him.

Draco pulled his wand from his pocket and held it in as nonthreatening a manner as he could muster. He shifted to face Hermione and looked up at her.

“ _Legilimens_.”

Hermione gasped and fought the compulsion to reach for her wand as she felt Malfoy invade her mind, hunting for certain images as they rushed around her consciousness in confusion. Her hands gripped the edge of the seat as she tried to get used to the feeling of his mind battling with her own, attempting to pry secrets from her memories. She had nothing to hide, yet it still felt like he was an invader.

Draco searched and sifted through Granger’s memories, simultaneously trying to discover an incriminating image and praying he wouldn’t find one. There were no memories of capture or torture, and no evidence of memory modification as far as he could tell from his limited experience. And they were her memories, so this wasn’t someone else using the Polyjuice Potion. Draco saw confused flashes of Hermione as a little girl in the Muggle world, doing things he didn’t understand. There were images of Weasley and Potter, of course, from happier days. But mostly what he saw were memories of the two of them together. He saw the dozens of times they had met in secret. He saw himself through her eyes…

…and it was almost unbearable.

He pulled away, terminating the spell.

Hermione took a deep breath as she tried to recover, and joked quietly, “See? I told you nothing happened to me.”

“I would’ve liked to believe you,” Draco said almost apologetically. But they both knew that trust didn’t work that way for wizards and witches.

Draco had asked her to trust him. She found that she was able to, at least enough to let him into her mind. And she had trusted him enough to stay with him for a week with no immediate protection. Enough to sleep with and next to him, making herself completely vulnerable to attack. So she trusted him not to hurt her, at least physically. And she trusted him not to betray her secrets. But did she trust him completely?

And did he trust her? Would he as willingly let her into his mind if there were good cause? There was so much in there she wanted to know. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe it would be easier to go on pretending that there was a possibility that he felt something for her that he didn’t actually feel. That maybe this was more than the inevitable clash of two people who couldn’t stay away from one another. That it wasn’t going to end horribly and probably soon.

The two fell into silence as the train moved out of the station. Hermione ought to get to the Prefects’ Compartment. She ought to change into her school robes. She couldn’t be as familiar with Draco as she’d grown used to while staying with him anymore.

For once, going back to Hogwarts was a source of anxiety rather than comfort to her. In fact, Draco seemed to be the only source of comfort in the world in that moment. The idea that she would once again have to pretend that he was nothing to her was very upsetting. She would no longer be allowed to come to his bed after a nightmare, or spend an afternoon reading with him. Hermione thought she might be willing to endure the disapproving glances of ten Narcissa Malfoys if she didn’t have to give up those things.

But there would be no bargaining here. She had gotten herself into the mess, and chosen to stay in it repeatedly. Now she would simply have to deal with the consequences. Things would have to go back to the way they had been before Christmas.

Hermione yawned as politely as she could. She would never admit to Draco that she’d had trouble sleeping every night since she left the Manor. Between not having him there and then worrying about what his father was going to do, it was difficult to relax. Clearly, though, he was all right. And now she was so very tired. A short nap couldn’t hurt, could it?

She began to experimentally stretch out on the bench and Draco moved his arm so that she could lay her head on his lap. After a brief moment of hesitation at this unexpected gesture, Hermione claimed the proffered pillow and shifted into a comfortable position, deciding not to say anything as Draco let his arm rest on her shoulder, absently playing with a lock of her hair as he gazed out the window.


	22. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains anal sex and mild erotic asphyxiation choking for the sake of sexual pleasure). I feel these acts are important to the development of both characters and they’re in the story for a reason. However, if you would prefer not to read that portion, simply stop reading when it is clear that they are about to have sex. There are other important plot points before that point that you probably don’t want to miss.
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Hermione awoke suddenly as the train jolted, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. Her side was warm where Malfoy’s arm had rested, but she pulled away and sat up as she woke.

“Time to change,” Draco said as he got up and reached for his luggage.

 _In more ways than one_ , Hermione thought to herself, but merely nodded in response. So full were their minds of what to say and how to act once they left that compartment that they forgot to watch each other as clothing was shed and donned.

When they were both back in the black robes they had worn for nearly seven years, Draco couldn’t help but scowl at the maroon and gold details on hers that he had been happy to forget.

“We shouldn’t be seen coming from the same compartment,” Hermione said quietly.

“Right,” Draco said brusquely. “See you later.”

“Yes. Later.” Hermione sounded distracted even to herself, but didn’t have time to get another word out before the compartment door closed behind Draco. With a sigh, she dispelled the charm on the window, and sat down to wait for the train to pull into Hogsmeade Station.

*****

Dinner in the Great Hall was nerve-wracking. Hermione tried not to look at the Slytherin table, but she didn’t have much success. She could almost feel Malfoy watching her, but the few times she had the courage to sneak a glance at the table he seemed to be deep in conversation with the other Slytherins.

When the meal was finally over, all Hermione wanted to do was lock herself in her room and think. But Ron would have none of it. As they walked back to the Common Room with Ginny, he stopped her in the hallway.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a bit?” He turned to Ginny. “Gin, go on without us.”

Ginny paused and gave Hermione a significant look. Hermione nodded her head almost imperceptibly to indicate that she’d be all right.

“All right,” Ginny said after hesitating. “See you back at the Common Room.”

“Yeah,” Ron said distractedly as Ginny continued down the corridor and out of sight.

Hermione waited for whatever it was that Ron had to say. She had missed him over the holiday, but she felt strangely now that she was back at school with her friends, and she wasn’t sure that she was ready to be alone with Ron again yet. Hopefully he’d make this quick.

“Listen, Hermione, I…” Ron swallowed and stared determinedly at the stone wall behind her. “I know we’ve all been having a bad time lately. Things seem… weird… between us, since Harry’s been gone.”

Hermione was stunned. She could count the times she and Ron had had a serious conversation on one hand. And now he wanted to talk about Harry being gone? She stared at him while he continued to look at the wall, and swallowed. “In what way?”

“Dunno.” Ron looked at the floor. “I just feel like… like we’re not as close as we used to be.”

Hermione felt a pang in her chest and looked away. She had been thinking it for months. Why was it so hard to hear him say it?

Her voice seemed very small when she spoke. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Neither did I,” Ron said, finally looking at her. “That’s why I was hoping, well. I was hoping we could change that.”

Hermione looked up at him, uncertain. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Ron paused, looking down again. “I miss Harry and I know you do. And we’re both worried about him. But that doesn’t mean we have to stop being friends.”

Her features softened at the tone of his voice. “We haven’t stopped being friends, Ron.”

“Of course not,” Ron said quickly. “No, I know that. I guess I just want… I want to be close to you again.”

Hermione’s next question was hesitant. “Aren’t we close now?”

“Yeah, but…,” Ron floundered, searching for the right words. “Maybe not as much as we used to be. And maybe… maybe we could be closer.”

“What are you trying to say?” But she had a sinking feeling of certainty about his meaning.

“I was just wondering if… if maybe you want to, um… spend time together more.” Ron focused intently on a stray thread on his sleeve. “I mean… just us.”

Hermione felt another pang in her chest and she couldn’t decide if she was sad or furious that now of all times Ron had finally gotten the courage for this.

“Ron, I…” Hermione paused, trying to figure out if there was any way she could say this without crushing him. Half of her was screaming in protest. How could she do this to Ron? “Of course we’re friends, and of course I want us to be close… I miss seeing you as much as I used to and I’d be glad to spend more time with you and Ginny…”

“With me and Ginny…” Ron’s voice grew cold.

“I just…” Hermione swallowed and heard her own voice as if someone else were speaking. “I don’t think now is the right time… for us.”

Ron stared at her in disbelief for a full five seconds before responding, voice nearly shaking with disappointment and frustration. “When will it be the right time? We’re in the middle of a war, Hermione. Things aren’t going to get better any time soon, and if it’s all the same to you, I don’t think there’s much point in waiting.”

“I-I…” Hermione faltered, unable to bear the look on Ron’s face. But it was too late to take back what she’d said. “I just don’t think it would be a good idea. We have to support Harry right now, we have to be ready to help him if he needs us… We can’t be distracted—”

“Distracted?” Anger and hurt flared in his blue eyes. The color of Draco’s irises was like a black-and-white photograph of that blue. No, she shouldn’t think of him right now.

“Ron—” she pleaded, but he cut her off.

“Is there someone else?” he choked out, as if he were afraid to ask.

Hermione was taken aback. “What?”

“Is there _someone else_?” he repeated more vehemently.

She was going to lie to him. There was no other way. But she hesitated a moment too long. “No, I—”

“I’m not completely thick, you know,” Ron spat. “You could at least have the decency to tell me the truth if you’re not interested. I know I took a while to ask but that doesn’t mean I’m not serious.” He shook his head in disgust and turned to leave. “You know where to find me when you’ve figured out what you want.”

“Ron, wait—”

But he was gone. Hermione choked back the sobs that threatened to tumble out of her and braced herself against the cold stones of the wall next to her.

Everything was backward. She had just devastated one of her best friends. She had turned down the first boy she had ever loved. The only one she had really loved until… No. She didn’t want to think about him, not now. Not when her head was full of Ron’s words, Ron’s nervously affectionate expression as he finally got the words out, the hurt and frustration on his features when she had refused the person she had been in love with for years.

Why now? Why when it was too late, when she had finally given up? But that was typical Ron: always doing things haphazardly and after the fact. If he really did love her, he loved her inadequately and too late. But what if he actually did love her? She had always hoped but had never let herself believe that he could...

A small sob choked her breathing.

She couldn’t cry here. Someone would surely see. She didn’t want to answer any questions. She just wanted to be alone. But she couldn’t make it back to her room like this. She’d have to go through the Common Room, and then everyone would know that something had happened. ****

_I need a place to be alone_ , she thought. And then she remembered a place that could give her anything she needed. She wiped her eyes and tried to calm her breathing as she made her way to the corridor where she knew the Room of Requirement was concealed. She stood in front of the place where the door would appear and repeated her thought clearly three times: _I need a place to be alone_.

A door appeared in the stone wall in quick response to her request, and she turned the doorknob with a shaky hand. She stepped inside, and as soon as she closed the door behind her, she began to cry again in earnest. She leaned back against the wall behind her for support and slowly slipped to the floor, shaking as she cried.

“Granger?”

Hermione jumped up and wiped her eyes quickly, confused as to how he could possibly be here.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice cracked a bit and she felt mortified by his presence. Now, of all times…

“Wanted a place to be alone,” he answered simply. Hermione laughed mirthlessly at the irony. It wasn’t lost on Draco either, and he smirked a bit.

Hermione swallowed and breathed deeply. Of course he would be here now, when he was the last person in the school she wanted to see her like this. “Didn’t mean to intrude. I… I’ll go.”

Draco stood and followed her to the door, closing his hand around her wrist gently to detain her as her other hand closed on the doorknob. “What’s wrong?”

Hermione felt too weak and distracted to free herself from Malfoy’s grip, so she simply stood there by the door feeling foolish, vaguely aware of the warmth of his skin on hers. “Why do you care?”

He visibly flinched at the coldness of her words and immediately let go of her hand, taking a step back. The icy quality of his voice matched hers. “Sorry I asked.”

It was Hermione’s turn to flinch, and her expression softened. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.” She moved to sit on the familiar sofa by the fire. The room was set up exactly as it always had been when she and Draco were there together. It was unexpectedly comforting.

Draco sat on the other end of the sofa, giving Granger space. She wasn’t crying anymore, just sitting in silence, staring into the fire. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t worried. Sure, he’d seen her cry before. Often he’d been the cause of it, and that hadn’t bothered him much. But this was different, and he wanted it to stop.

“What happened?” he asked in what he hoped was an unreadable tone. Granger looked over at him in surprise as if she’d forgotten he was there. That irked him, but he kept himself in check.

“It’s nothing,” Hermione answered in a voice thick with the tears she’d just shed and the emotional exhaustion she was feeling.

“You’re brilliant at many things, Granger, but lying isn’t one of them,” Draco said, not unkindly.

“It’s nothing to do with you.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. But Hermione wasn’t sure she wanted to admit that to him.

He shrugged. “Tell me anyway.”

Hermione hesitated. “You’ll be angry or annoyed or something.”

“Well that won’t be much of a change, will it?” Draco smirked.

“All right. All right, I…” Hermione took a deep breath. “This is so stupid…”

Draco waited in silence for her to continue.

“I… Ron…” Hermione swallowed as Draco stiffened reflexively upon hearing that name. “Ron’s told me that he wants… that he wants to be with me.”

“…Oh.” Draco shifted his gaze from her to the fire. “Well, that’s… That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hermione said quietly, confused by Draco’s reaction.

“Don’t you still want it?”

“I…” Hermione held her arms out helplessly. “I don’t know what I want.”

“At least you admit that,” he said, unable to keep all of the coldness out of his voice.

“Draco…” Fresh tears were forming at the corners of her eyes.

Draco shook his head, voice steadying to a falsely pragmatic and unaffected tone. “There’s no reason to cry. It was fun while it lasted, but I doubt the contract’s still in effect. I’m not going to fight for you or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“No, it won’t,” she said quietly, stung by his nonchalance.

He looked at her. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“Because I’ve told him no.” The tears began to slide down over her cheeks. She hid her face in her hands.

Draco stared at Granger in utter disbelief. All of this defied logic. And she was one of the most logical people he knew. “What? Why?”

“Because…” Hermione sighed, voice shaky. “Because I don’t want to be with him anymore.”

He dismissed her explanation as if she were mad. “You’re being stupid.”

“No, I’m not,” she said firmly. “I l-love Ron very much, but I… I couldn’t be happy with him. Not right now, at least.”

“Why not?” he asked in frustration. The witch really was impossible!

Hermione wiped her eyes and looked up at him as if the answer should be obvious. “Because I’d have to stop seeing you…”

“Granger, as much as I’d love to continue shagging you senseless whenever I want, you’re much too intelligent to throw away the thing you’ve always wanted for this…” he paused, but only briefly, “this game we’ve been playing.”

“A game?” Hermione didn’t think it was possible to feel worse than she already did about this situation. Leave it to Malfoy to prove her wrong. “Is that what you think of this as?”

The hurt in Granger’s eyes gave him pause. “Isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore…”

“This is simple, Granger,” he said, as much to convince himself as her. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind. Then you and Weasley can help Potter finish the Dark Lord and live happily ever after. That’s how it’s supposed to end up.”

“No,” she said quietly. “That can’t happen now.”

“What are you on about?”

She looked directly at him to emphasize her point. “He knows there’s someone else.”

Draco paused, his mind working furiously. “Lie to him.”

“I tried,” she said in a defeated tone. She was still upset with herself for lying to Ron in the first place. “He’s not that stupid, regardless of what you may think. And now there’s no way he’ll ever speak to me again, because he knows I’m lying, but if I tell him the truth he’ll hate me.”

Draco gritted his teeth. “That seems… unreasonable.”

“It is.” Hermione sighed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I still don’t want to lose him.”

“Then we stop this, you go back to him and tell him you were an idiot to turn him down, and it’ll be like it never happened.”

“I… I don’t want it to be like it never happened,” Hermione said in a small voice as she began to cry again. She looked away from Malfoy, ashamed of herself for admitting that fact, for crying again, but too upset to do anything about it.

Draco watched her for a moment, taking in the implications of what she’d just said. _Neither do I_ , his thoughts answered her, but he didn’t have the courage to say it out loud. Instead, he shifted on the sofa, reaching for Granger’s prone form and pulling her against him.

They sat in half-embrace, her back against his chest, both facing the fire. Draco rested his chin on Hermione’s shoulder and tried to imagine how he could make her understand what it meant to him that she hadn’t run back to Weasley. Even though that probably would’ve been best for everyone.

Hermione wiped her eyes and shifted in Draco’s arms, turning to face him. One hand was braced on his chest. She reached the other up to stroke his fringe out of his eyes, heedless of the fact that he barely tolerated hugs from her, let alone gentle caresses.

Draco said nothing. He watched her in silence as her hand slid over his face, smooth against his cheek. Her left hand came up to mimic the right. The skin of her palms was warm and made him feel flushed. That is, until her lips descended on his and dwarfed all other heat.

Hermione watched Draco’s eyes slide closed as she kissed him, her confidence and passion building with each passing moment. She had to show him that it was impossible for her to choose anyone else. Even though he was the wrong choice. Her fingers slid into his hair and grabbed hold. The world was shifting beneath her and she would hold onto him, not knowing how precarious his own footing was.

She pulled away so they could both breathe properly, and Draco’s eyes drifted open. She was beautiful with the fire behind her and her lips shining and slightly swollen from their kiss. If he moved, he might shatter her newfound assertiveness. So he sat very still as she straddled his legs and tugged at his robes, baring his neck so that she could press her lips there as well. Her kisses were worshipful, possessive. He didn’t mind.

Hermione was surprised to find that even though everything was a complete mess, being with Draco removed some of the strangeness and uncertainty that had characterized the day. His taste, his smell, they were familiar, reassuring. She had wanted to feel that way with Ron. She had hoped that he’d want that from her too someday.

And now he said he did, and she was so angry with him for it. How dare he finally notice her just when she had given up on him! She had finally found someone else, and now Ron wanted to ruin that, too. It wasn’t fair! He was supposed to be her friend and yet she was sure that he’d never understand if he knew the truth. She shouldn’t have to hide this. She wasn’t doing anything wrong! She never asked for anything for herself. Why couldn’t she just have Draco?

Draco groaned as Granger’s kisses became more forceful. Her hands were shaking as she blindly sought the clasp of his robes, his tie, the buttons of his shirt. This was so different. And wrong. She was upset. And yet he found her to be so very sexy. What did that say about him?

“Granger,” he gasped between kisses, placing his hands gently on her shoulders.

Hermione shook her head and moved to kiss his neck instead, shoving his unclasped cloak off of his shoulders and throwing his tie to the floor before finishing the process of undoing his shirt buttons.

Draco grabbed her wrists in his hands and forced her to look at him.

“ _Hermione_.”

The rare sound of her name coming from his lips snapped her to attention. She met his gaze and felt as though she might start crying again.

“Don’t make me stop,” she pleaded.

“That’s the last thing I want,” Draco said, lust evident in his eyes. His instinct was to ask her if she was all right, but he knew she wasn’t. And really, he had no qualms with letting her do this anyway. He just needed to know that she wasn’t going to regret it later.

“I just don’t want to think right now,” she said in a heartbreaking tone.

Draco wondered if she had ever wanted that before in her life.

Her words weren’t exactly reassuring, but they were enough to absolve Draco of responsibility in his own mind. He let go of her wrists and relaxed against the cushions of the sofa, inviting her to continue.

“Do whatever you like.”

Hermione smiled then, and sat up straight in Draco’s lap. She silently removed her own cloak and began undoing her tie. She stuffed it into his front shirt pocket and he smirked as he watched her. She began unbuttoning her shirt, completely unashamed. After all, Draco knew her body and loved it. Why shouldn’t he look at it? He was the only person who had ever touched it in lust. It made her proud to see him watching her now with eyes half-lidded, pupils large.

The witch who stepped back onto the floor and began to remove her shirt was a far cry from the one who had stripped for him very reluctantly a few months ago. She was confident as she let her shirt slip from her shoulders and fall to the floor. As she let her skirt fall as well and stepped out of it. As her undergarments joined the pile of clothing on the silk carpet.

He couldn’t even laugh at her when a playful smile graced her lips as she whispered, “ _Accio_.”

Having been summoned, he got up from the sofa and stood before her. Her hands moved across his shoulders and slid his shirt off of his arms, let it drop to the floor. Her fingers were at the button of his trousers and still she was unashamed. He was letting her be in control. She had never wanted that before from him, but now it seemed very important. She just needed to have the courage to take it.

Her hands trembled uncertainly at the button.

Draco’s breath was hot against her ear as he said four wonderful words: “Take what you want.”

Her confidence waxed immediately. Trousers and pants soon joined the pile. They both stood naked, skin warmed by the fire. She tugged him down to the floor and he lay on the luxurious carpet, obviously aroused and not caring. Whatever she wanted, he was willing and waiting to give.

 _Take what you want_ , he had said. She wanted everything. Her body was aching for him. She straddled him and bent to kiss him hungrily. Her hips pressed against his and she longed to have him inside her, but it was too soon. What did she want first?

Granger’s eyes were on his face, his chest, his cock where it was nestled against her curls. Wholly unabashed and wanting. _Take what you want, Granger._

Her hand reached down to grab his, placing it on her breast as she looked at him significantly. Draco cupped her flesh in his hand before flicking his thumb over her nipple. It hardened instantly. She groaned. He flicked it again.

Hermione arched her back and began to breathe more heavily. She found his other hand with hers and guided it to her other breast. She moaned as his left thumb mimicked the actions of the right. The friction of skin on sensitive skin was almost too much, but she relished the roughness of it all.

Draco let his thumbs flick over her hardened nipples mercilessly. Not only did she not protest, but she continued to moan even as his pace increased. He was spurred on by her reaction, and experimentally pinched one nipple between his fingers. When she gasped and nudged her hips against his, he did the same to the other. Her hips pressed against his more forcefully and he could now feel the heat and wetness of her arousal.

_Take what you want._

She leaned down and braced her hands on either side of his head so she could kiss him roughly. Rough kisses, smooth skin, rough thumb pads, hard nipples, wet pussy, smooth cock, rough, she wanted more roughness. She could take it. He said she could take what she wanted. She would take it.

Draco panted as she broke the kiss and sat up straight again. She lifted herself up onto her knees and closed her hand around his cock. He groaned involuntarily, anticipating what was to come. She placed the head of his cock between the smooth lips of her pussy and wiggled her hips a bit, spreading some of her wetness over him to ease his entrance. Draco held his breath as she eased herself onto him.

Slowly and experimentally Hermione moved up and down, pushing Draco’s cock in and out of herself, gaining speed and confidence. She wanted more. She took it. The pace she set was rigorous. She wanted him deeper, wanted it harder, faster. She took all of it. Until she was frantically bucking her hips like something wild and wanton.

Draco groaned and watched her in fascination, resisting the urge to buck his hips up into hers, to roll her over and fuck her senseless, to take back the control that belonged to him. But she was so very sexy as she rode him that he couldn’t ruin it. Instead, he reached up and placed his hand gently at her throat so that his thumb pressed against her windpipe.

Hermione’s eyes widened and her pace slowed a bit, but she didn’t tell him to stop. A shiver ran through her whole body as his thumb pressed a little harder and his fingers rested on her neck. She took slow, shaky breaths to control her instinct to fight it as Draco smirked up at her. He was taking control back and she found that she loved it.

He watched her as she adjusted to the pressure at her throat. She was enjoying this. Something inside Draco snapped. He flipped them over in one fluid movement and placed both hands on her neck this time, gently constricting her air supply, watching her carefully to make sure she was all right. She pressed her hips up into his insistently and expelled what little air was left in her lungs with a moan. ****

Hermione needed to breathe, but she wasn’t afraid. She found to her surprise that she trusted Draco, at least in this. She trusted him to hurt without harming her, to push her to the very limit but not over the edge. His hands were warm around her neck even as her brain told her over and over again that she needed air, and soon. But the look in his eyes was challenging and reassuring at the same time. It said, “Show me that you can do this, like I know you can.” So she ignored her instincts and focused on the thrill that arose from the fact that her life was literally in his hands.

Draco eased the pressure of his thumbs off Hermione’s neck and she took a few experimental breaths, suppressing a few reflexive coughs. He placed his hands on either side of her and adjusted back into a more comfortable position. When he looked down at her, she smiled with lust in her eyes, seeming so unfazed by the experience that he was already tempted to go further. Matching her smile with a wicked one of his own, Draco leaned down and kissed her almost violently, beginning to thrust into her again in earnest. Her hips crashed up to meet his tirelessly and Draco began to wonder how far he could push his luck.

“You want it rough tonight, don’t you?” Draco growled.

Hermione whimpered and urged her hips upward ceaselessly in a silent plea for more.

“How rough?” Draco asked with a smirk, a finger sliding experimentally along the cleft of her ass, teasing the spot he’d left alone for all the months they’d been seeing each other.

Hermione shivered violently and Draco chuckled.

Draco made up his mind and stopped thrusting, pulling out and leaving Hermione whimpering in unfulfilled need. He closed his eyes and thought of one sentence very clearly three times.

A jar of a thick potion appeared on the floor in front of the fire and Hermione eyed it warily.

“On your knees.”

Hermione was so eager for more contact that she complied without protest. She was nervous, but she wanted more. She wanted something new, something hard. She wanted Draco not to hold back. She— _Oh!_

Draco was practically giddy as he applied a liberal amount of the concoction to the area around the puckered hole. Hermione shivered and gasped as his fingers explored her.

The potion was cold at first, but warmed slightly as his fingers pressed deeper, first one, then two, and the thick liquid allowed him to slide them in and out with relative ease. Hermione’s arms and legs shook at the strange, though not unpleasant sensation. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought she would let someone do what she was about to let Draco do to her.

Draco cleaned his hand with a quick _Scourgify_ and positioned himself behind Granger, holding her hips.

“This might hurt at first,” he said unapologetically.

 _Good_ , Hermione thought, but merely nodded.

His entry was slow and careful, as much so that Draco could savor how it felt as in consideration of the pain it might cause Hermione. It was so tight and smooth, and not better, but simply different than her pussy. And she hadn’t even made a sound of protest.

Hermione willed herself to relax as she found to her surprise that she actually could fit all of him inside her. It was a bit painful, and definitely uncomfortable, but it seemed to make all kinds of nerves react in ways that were almost pleasurable. She waited very still for Draco to begin moving.

Draco reached his hand around and found Granger’s clit, still slick with arousal. She practically jumped when he touched it, and he could see shivers run through her body. He smirked. He was about to fuck Hermione Granger in the ass so hard she’d have trouble walking. What a strange turn his life had taken.

It felt so different, and strange, and _good_. The discomfort of him inside her somehow magnified the pleasure of his finger stroking her clit. Hermione moaned loudly, nearly overwhelmed by unexpected sensation. The slight pain, the way it didn’t feel quite right compared with the way he normally felt inside her, all served to amplify her lust. She wanted to be doing something wrong, and this definitely qualified in her mind.

The feel of her muscles contracting around him as he touched her made Draco unable to wait any longer. He began moving in and out of her at a fairly swift pace, his fingers still teasing her clit so that every thrust was accompanied by a beautiful moan and a series of shivers.

It was so incredibly intense. Soon Hermione’s arms could not support her weight and she let her cheek fall against the carpet, ass proudly in the air and now actually thrusting back against Draco in earnest. Her clit was so sensitive, but her nerves were distracted, and the combination of various sensations was so consuming that it forced out all rational thought.

Draco couldn’t believe that she was thrusting back to meet his hips, that she actually wanted more. He was almost afraid that he would injure her, but it felt so good that he didn’t want to argue. He continued stroking her clit and he could feel her getting closer. The differences in her breathing, the tension in her muscles were very familiar to him now.

Hermione practically screamed as she came, her nerves unable to take any more. Her pussy contracted around nothing and she continued thrusting back against Draco more violently than ever. She didn’t care if it hurt. It couldn’t stop. If it stopped she’d have to think. _Please, Draco, don’t stop, don’t ever stop._

But he had to stop. Her enthusiasm was too much to handle, and watching her come pushed him over the edge. He held his position for a moment, panting, before pulling away and cleaning himself off.

The only sound for a full minute was both of them bringing their breathing down.

Draco broke the silence.

“Have you punished yourself enough yet?”

His voice was gravelly when he spoke. He was looking at the fire rather than at her.

“What?” Hermione sat up, utterly confused and finding it difficult to think in her brain’s post-coital haze.

Draco shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t count if you like it.”

Hermione gingerly got up and began cleaning herself off too, deflecting Draco’s comment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You want me to hurt you because you think you deserve it.” Draco finally looked at her as he began pulling on his pants and trousers.

“Why would I think that?” Hermione’s focus was resolutely on her clothing as she began to put it back on.

“Because you hurt _him_.”

Hermione was silent as she buttoned her skirt, facing away from Draco.

“Was it enough?” Draco said evenly. “I can do much worse, if you like. You know I can.”

Anger flared in Hermione’s eyes as she turned to face Draco. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Draco scoffed. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Right. Any day now you’re going to lock me up in a dungeon somewhere and reveal that this was all an elaborate ploy to humiliate me before handing me over to Voldemort.”

“All I’m trying to say, Granger, is that if you want to be hurt, you’ve come to the right place.” He grabbed her left wrist and gripped it hard for emphasis. “But if you’re trying to punish yourself because you feel guilty about Weasley, then leave me out of it.”

Hermione’s palm connected so hard with Draco’s cheek that the sound reverberated through the otherwise silent room. Draco didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch.

“I won’t be your penance, Granger,” Draco said with a sneer, but his voice was almost gentle when he continued, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Her brown eyes were wide as they stared up into his for a moment, and became watery before she blinked the would-be tears away. Then his arm was around her and her cheek was pressed against his bare chest.

“Time for bed,” Draco said quietly after a minute.

Hermione nodded and pulled on her robes, making herself look as presentable as she could. Draco pulled on his shirt and robes and followed her to the door.

“You go first,” he offered. It wouldn’t do for them to be caught together at this time of night.

She smiled at him a bit sadly as she nodded again and left, closing the door behind her.

Draco stood by the door for a moment and then looked down. There in his shirt pocket was a maroon and gold tie. He smiled slightly and transferred it to his trouser pocket for safekeeping.

That was the last way out. He gave her the freedom to choose Weasley and instead she was with him, despite the fact that she might lose one of her best friends.

And he was worse off than she was. A Death Eater no more. A Malfoy in exile. There was nothing else for him now. No cause but Granger. No home but her. Until the fragile existence they clung to was inevitably torn asunder.

She would’ve been wasted on Weasley anyway.


	23. Acceleration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Ginny looked up as her brother slammed the portrait hole shut behind him and stormed up to her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked innocently as he glared down at her. He shook his head, apparently too furious to speak, and motioned back toward the door. Feeling that it would be best to get this over with, and not cherishing the thought of having a confrontation with Ron in front of half the Gryffindors, Ginny rolled her eyes and followed her brother back out into the hallway.

“Well?”

Ron seemed to be struggling with a concept that he couldn’t fully comprehend. He began explaining with the only word he could process. “Hermione.”

“You’ve asked her out, haven’t you?” Ginny asked cautiously. She had thought this might be coming. Had tried to warn Hermione, though belatedly. A part of her had hoped that somehow things between Hermione and Malfoy would either end or come out into the open before Ron finally made a move.

Ron nodded distractedly, as if he didn’t quite believe what had happened. “Yeah, but she gave me some line about how it wasn’t the right time and turned me down.”

Ginny tried her best to look surprised. “Well... maybe it _isn’t_ the right time. I mean there’s so much going on right now—”

“There’s always so much going on! Why should that stop us? I thought this was what she wanted. I thought...” he slammed his hand against the wall in frustration, eyes growing bright with anger. “There has to be someone else. She’s hiding something.”

Ginny fidgeted a bit and kicked herself mentally. She couldn’t give Hermione away now after she’d promised so faithfully to keep the secret. She didn’t think much of Draco Malfoy, but she wasn’t going to snitch on her friend.

“You know!” Ron growled accusingly. “I can’t believe it! You know, don’t you? It figures.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ginny lied pointlessly. Even Ron wasn’t that thick.

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” Ron snarled.

Ginny shook her head emphatically. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“Brilliant.” Ron glared at his sister. “My friend and now my own bloody sister are lying to me. Guess there’s no point in trying to get anything out of either of you. Tell me if you decide I deserve to know what the hell is going on.”

Before Ginny could think of something to say, Ron had flung the portrait of the Fat Lady open and was on his way up to the boys’ dormitory.

Whatever Ron had said to Hermione, it must not have ended well. Poor Hermione: as if things weren’t complicated enough for her as it was! There was no way Ginny was going to be able to sleep now, so she pulled out Harry’s copy of _Flying with the Canons_ (which he’d left with her) and waited for Hermione to return.

It was near midnight by the time the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open again. Ginny was the only person left in the Common Room, and had been dozing off. Hermione did not look happy, by any means, but she wasn’t nearly as upset as she could have been. Perhaps that had been Malfoy’s influence, if Hermione had in fact been to see him, as Ginny suspected.

“I tried to warn you,” Ginny said quietly.

Hermione sighed, eyes still red and slightly puffy, and stood by the door helplessly.

“Come on,” Ginny said with a sympathetic smile. “Let’s go to your room and talk for a bit before bed. You’ve got a free period tomorrow morning and I’ll be all right with a few hours less of sleep.”

Hermione nodded and gratefully led the way up to her bedroom, wondering how much more difficult everything would’ve been this year if she hadn’t had her own space to escape to.

When the door was shut behind them, Ginny sat down next to Hermione on the bed.

“Ron’s asked you out.”

“Yes,” Hermione said quietly, still unable to believe it.

“And you turned him down.”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. “I had to.”

Ginny hesitated. “Did you tell Malfoy?”

“Not intentionally.” Hermione fidgeted with her robes. “But I wasn’t really in a state to keep it a secret.”

“Did he offer to hex Ron into next Tuesday?” Ginny asked with a scowl. “Because I wouldn’t mind doing that myself.”

“It’s not Ron’s fault,” Hermione sighed. “He just... he just has bad timing.”

“There’s the understatement of the year,” Ginny muttered.

“And now he knows there’s someone else,” Hermione continued fretfully. “And it’s only a matter of time before he finds out who it is. He’s n-never going to speak to me again.”

“Yes, he will,” Ginny said soothingly as she rubbed her friend’s back. Hermione had begun to cry again. “It’s just going to take time.”

Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes determinedly and looked at Ginny. “If it were anyone else, maybe. But Malfoy? How can Ron forgive me?”

Ginny was silent for a moment. She wanted to assure Hermione that Ron cared about her and would forgive her eventually no matter what, but she couldn’t be sure. Especially because the War made Hermione’s perceived offense even greater.

Hermione let the silence stretch as they both gazed at the floor, until she finally gathered the courage to ask her next question. “Do you think I’m a complete idiot, turning Ron down like that?”

“No,” Ginny said, before adding hesitantly, “Though I have to admit that I’m surprised you’re still seeing Malfoy.”

Hermione forced down the lump in her throat. “Did you expect something to go wrong by now?”

Ginny chose her next words carefully. “What I expected doesn’t matter. He’s still interested, isn’t he? And he hasn’t hurt you. That’s something.”

“I never expected him to… to want me for this long,” Hermione said softly.

Ginny pondered that thought for a moment. “I asked you before if you thought he cared about you...”

Hermione remembered her response very clearly: _What does Draco Malfoy care about besides himself?_

“I don’t know what to think about how he feels,” Hermione sighed in exasperation. “He can be gentle... Sometimes we laugh. There’s more to him than I could have imagined. But I don’t know how he feels about me.”

“Do you know how you feel about him?”

She asked herself that question almost daily, and still Hermione had no answer. Her silence seemed to be enough for Ginny, though, and she stood, squeezing Hermione’s shoulder as she moved to the door. As her hand touched the knob she turned back toward her friend.

“It’s not wrong, what you’re doing,” Ginny said. “It’s difficult, and complicated, but don’t let Ron or anyone else make you feel as if it’s wrong.”

Hermione nodded and gave her friend a sad smile as Ginny left and closed the door behind her.

 _You haven’t done anything wrong_ , he’d said. And now Ginny had said the same. She really wished she could believe them. But how could she be blameless when what she was doing with Draco was causing one of her best friends so much pain?

*****

Draco returned to the dormitories without incident. If any of the other boys were awake, they showed no sign. They were used to him coming and going as he pleased. As he stripped off his uniform, he felt the bulge of Granger’s tie in his pocket. He pulled it out and absently threw it into his trunk. He’d have to remember to give it back to her later.

*****

Breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning was a subdued affair. Hermione and Ginny sat across from each other, but Hermione was in no mood to talk. Ron stormed past them and stopped only to glare around the hall, apparently to see if Hermione was watching any other boys, before taking a seat next to Dean and Seamus. Ginny rolled her eyes at him, but Hermione only stared resolutely at her toast.

Draco watched Weasley’s tantrum from the other side of the hall, observing that Granger had not exaggerated the ginger git’s reaction to her rejection. If he wasn’t sure that Granger would stop seeing him if Weasley found out, he’d give away the secret in a heartbeat. It was going to be even more difficult sneaking about now that Weasley was on the alert, and Draco didn’t much fancy having to deal with Granger’s guilt and paranoia about the whole thing. Plus he’d have the perk of being able to throw the truth in Wealey’s face. That prospect alone made Draco sorely tempted to let the secret out.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t risk her refusing to see him. He couldn’t count on his own drawing power to keep her coming back if she were that angry with him. Draco chanced a glance at her. She sat rigid, staring blankly at her plate, ignoring the scathing looks Weasley was directing at her. Then she got up, collected her school things, and left without a backward glance. He wanted to follow her. No, that would be too obvious. Chances were that Weasley wasn’t that perceptive, but he still shouldn’t risk it. He’d simply have to wait. Draco did not like waiting.

*****

Classes with Draco had already been tense of late, but it was even worse now that Hermione and Ron weren’t speaking. Without Harry there, there was no one else in their year besides Ron that she could pair up with or talk to in classes. Professor Slughorn seemed oblivious to the fact that Ron and Hermione had had a falling out, and paired them together as usual for their Potions assignment. Most unluckily, they were forced to share a table with Draco and Blaise Zabini.

Ron seemed to think that shunning Hermione was more important than getting a decent mark for his potion, which would require asking her for help, so he forged ahead without knowing what he was doing. Hermione forced herself to keep her eyes off of Draco as she began figuring out which ingredients she’d need. Draco and Zabini seemed to be boredly discussing how to proceed as she went to the store cupboard.

When she got back to the table, more seemed to be brewing than Scintillation Solution. Ron had apparently spilled half the contents of his cauldron onto the table, and the potion was ruining the Slytherins’ carefully organized ingredients. Without thinking, Hermione began to siphon off the spilled liquid with her wand, hoping to stop the worst of the damage. Ron, however, batted her hand away and glared daggers at her.

“I don’t need your help, Hermione!” he snapped.

Hermione took a step back, remembering herself. Zabini raised an eyebrow and Draco smirked.

“What’s the matter, Weasley? Split up with your girlfriend?” Zabini taunted.

Ron turned bright red. “She’s not my—!”

Draco cut him off. “Well, let me be the first to congratulate you, Weasley,” he drawled. “Blood traitor’s only a small step up from Mudblood, but it is a step up. You don’t need her dragging you down even lower.”

Zabini chuckled lowly as Hermione tried to keep her face expressionless. It was good, she told herself, for Draco to act this way around Zabini and Ron. He had to act as if she meant as little to him as she always had. But why did he have to be such a good actor?

“I don’t know, Draco,” Zabini said smoothly, his eyes landing on Hermione. “Maybe Granger’s the one who broke it off. After all, the Head Girl might be ashamed to be seen with such a sorry excuse for a wizard.”

Ron bristled, and Hermione kept her gaze resolutely on her textbook, though she couldn’t keep her cheeks from burning.

“You know, you may be right,” Draco said to Blaise conversationally. The taunts came back to him as easily as riding a broomstick. “Better a Mudblood who can work a wand than a blood traitor with no talent for magic whatsoever.”

He turned to Hermione, who met his mocking eyes, even though it took the last ounce of her Gryffindor courage. “Hey Granger, if you need a shoulder to cry on, I think I’ve got a spare set of robes that I could burn afterwards.”

Zabini snickered and looked Hermione up and down appraisingly. “I’d give her more than my shoulder. Looks like she could use it.”

Draco forced down the possessiveness that had flared up at Blaise’s words, and sneered, “Not for all the galleons at Gringott’s. It’d take too long to wash the dirt off when I was done.”

Hermione’s eyes fell. She looked at Ron, but he was working on his potion again, and seemed to be pretending not to hear the exchange. She had been spoiled by the last few months, she supposed. She had forgotten how cruel Draco could be. She had forgotten why she used to hate him so much. She was the only one there besides Draco who knew the irony of his words in the light of how many times he had touched her in passion. She knew it was an act, but it still hurt.

She couldn’t think of anything to say in response. No witty retort. But she was saved by Slughorn, who appeared a moment later and asked jovially, “How’re we all doing over here? Tut tut, three of you have barely begun! Miss Granger, are you quite all right? I’d’ve expected you to be nearly finished by now!”

Hermione smiled falsely at the professor and began cutting up some roots. “Sorry, Professor. The boys were trying to figure out who had the largest gurdyroot, but I think we’ve got it sorted now.”

With that, she began working on her potion, and as soon as Draco and Zabini recovered, they started theirs as well.

She was almost as good of an actor as he was, Draco thought to himself as Blaise went to the store cupboard. But he could see the part of her hurt that was real. She would thank him later, though. The altercation would definitely throw Weasley off their scent for a while, and that was what she wanted.

The table was silent for the rest of the class period.

*****

Draco was finished before Granger for once. No doubt she was determined to make up for all the time she’d lost and get the potion perfect. He didn’t want to hang around to witness the tension between her and Weasley, so he left.

It was the last class of the day, and he wanted a chance to get Granger on her own before dinner, so he waited in the hallway, telling Blaise to go on without him. Weasley stalked past him without a second glance, and he watched as the rest of their classmates filed up to the Great Hall.

Finally she walked by, seemingly intent upon ignoring him as well, but he grabbed her by the arm.

“What do you want?” Hermione asked, her voice icy.

“You,” he said with a confident smirk, but she seemed immune to his charm. Nevertheless, as he pulled her toward the nearest classroom and shut the door behind them, she didn’t put up much of a fight.

“We’re supposed to be at dinner,” she said as she freed herself from his grip.

Draco shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well maybe I am.” Hermione crossed her arms in irritation and leaned against the nearest wall. She was in no mood for Malfoy’s games.

“You’ve no right to be angry,” Draco said calmly.

Her face flushed. “Don’t I?”

“No,” was Draco’s firm response. “I did what you wanted. I made Weasley think I would never touch you.”

“You needn’t have been quite so convincing,” Hermione scowled.

“Anything less would’ve given us away, to both Weasley and Zabini! Use that brain, Granger!”

She looked away from him, still upset, but more at the fact that she knew he was right than because of how he had insulted her.

“You can’t tell me that you believed any of that.” Draco gritted his teeth in exasperation. “Grow up, Granger.”

“I never know whether you’re lying,” she protested.

“You should be glad I’m good at lying! I’m trying to keep your precious secret safe.”

Hermione sighed, feeling more than a little foolish for being so upset about a silly insult. “Maybe you’re too good at it.”

“Then don’t listen to what I say.” Draco pinned her against the wall and kissed her roughly without warning, grinding his hips into hers, letting his fingers tangle in her hair.

Hermione’s body responded immediately and she arched into him, returning his kiss in kind, shivering at the almost painful way he tugged at her hair. She understood the point he was making: no matter what they said, their bodies didn’t lie to one another. She knew he was trying to keep Ron from finding out about them. What did it matter what he said compared with what he conveyed through his hands, his lips? And if somehow even his touch were a lie, she wasn’t sure she cared as long as she had it.

Draco pulled away from the kiss and looked into Granger’s eyes. “You’re nothing to me.”

His lips crashed against hers once more and the kiss was fierce and passionate and then it was over. Before Hermione could recover, Draco had pulled away and left the room.


	24. Erosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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The weeks progressed slowly and painfully for Hermione. She had Ginny for companionship at meals and on the weekends, Draco in the evenings if she was lucky, and no one during classes. She a great deal of homework done because she had virtually nothing else to do, but she was very lonely.

There had been no word from Harry recently, and not only did that worry Hermione, but it also made her feel guilty about being a bad friend. She just didn’t know what she could tell Harry now that she and Ron weren’t speaking. She didn’t want him to be worried about them, and she didn’t want to tell him the truth.

Draco had taken to visiting Hermione in her room nearly every night. Though it was risky, they both agreed that it was the last place Ron would think to look for Hermione’s “someone else.” Hermione would go to bed early, lock her door, cast a silencing charm, and wait for Draco, who somehow still managed to get to her window by broomstick without being seen.

Most of the time they would have sex, and then Draco would leave. But sometimes he would stay for a while and they would talk for a bit, or lie in silence in the dark. Sometimes he would stay until she fell asleep, and sometimes he nearly fell asleep himself.

“How long do you think we can keep this up, Granger?” Draco asked one night as they lay naked together in her bed.

Hermione’s heart sank. She didn’t want to face the answer. “A little longer at least.”

He paused. “There are only two ways this can end.”

“I know,” she said quietly. Either Ron would find out, or they’d stop seeing each other.

“It’s your choice,” Draco said indifferently, “but you can’t hide forever. Not even from Weasley.”

Hermione rolled onto her side so that she could look at Draco. “Just a little longer,” she said, and kissed him with a fervor that was immediately returned.

When the kiss broke, Draco stood and got dressed, watching Hermione as the blissful forgetfulness of sex gave way to reality and the worries flooded visibly back to the forefront of her mind. They seemed to return more quickly and heavily each time.

“You’re a coward,” Draco said with no malice as he took his broomstick in hand and went to the window.

As Hermione watched him go, she felt the inescapable truth of his words resonate more painfully within her than any insult he had thrown her way.

*****

When Draco returned to his room, the other boys were asleep and a letter was waiting for him. He undressed and pulled the curtains around his bed, whispering a soft “ _Lumos_ ” so he could read his letter. __

_Dear Draco,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. It is difficult to get owls through now that we’re no longer under the “protection” of our former keepers. Obviously I cannot tell you what is happening here, but I trust that the mark you bear is indication enough. Be vigilant, now more than ever. Because you are not with us, you will be counted among our enemies._

_Do not think too badly of your father, Draco. What he did, he did for all our sakes. It pains both of us more than you know for this family to be thus divided. But you are of age now, and I will not tell you how to act. Even I am not sure of the correct course of action in this case. I can only hope that it will not be long before you are welcomed home._

_Please write to assure me of your safety._

_Love from your mother_

_P.S. It would be best if you did not use your own owl for the time being._

Draco held the letter in his right hand and looked down at his left forearm. The Mark was an inky black that rippled menacingly and seemed to burn his skin from the inside out. The pain and intensity of color had come and gone over the past few months, but lately it seemed to hurt constantly and never fade. The Dark Lord was strengthening.

It would be so easy, he thought for the hundredth time. So easy to lure Granger back to the Manor and be welcomed home with open arms. All would be forgiven, by his father and by the Dark Lord, if he gave them Hermione Granger.

But no, he’d been through all of this before. Over and over he’d weighed his options in his mind, and no matter how much sense it made to give her up, he found that he couldn’t. If he had been asked to give up anything—anyone—but her, it would have been an easy decision.

Draco read over his mother’s letter many times before reaching toward his bookbag at the foot of his bed and pulling out a quill and a piece of parchment. He hardly knew what he was going to write when he began, but found that the words came anyway, almost as if they were being written by someone else. The scratch of his quill was harsh in his ears compared with the soft breathing of his housemates.

_Dear Mother,_

_Rest assured that I’m quite well. Security is tighter than ever after what I did last year, though I think I’m right in assuming that your Master does not have his attention fixed on Hogwarts at the moment._

_I will remain among your enemies. I can’t explain why I won’t do as Father asked. It seems like nothing, and yet I can’t do it. I’m sorry that I’ve deprived you of an undivided family after all that’s happened, but I’ve made my decision._

_I think that perhaps it’s the wrong decision, but it’s the only one I can make._

_Love,_

_Draco_

*****

It was just after dawn when Draco climbed the stairs to the owlery. He had never used a school owl during his nearly seven years at Hogwarts. He had never done a lot of things until recently. It took him a few moments to get one of the obstinate and poorly-trained school owls to come down to him and consent to have his letter tied to its leg.

He didn’t look up when he heard an inhalation of breath from the doorway to the owlery. If it was someone he didn’t want to see, which was most everyone, they’d go away.

“I thought you had your own owl,” Hermione said as she recovered from the surprise of finding him there.

This was his last chance. He could rip the letter up and take her to them now.

Draco continued fastening his letter to the ugly barn owl’s leg. “I do.”

Sensing that she wasn’t going to get a more detailed explanation, Hermione rolled her eyes and called down one of the other school owls. It had been far too long since she’d written to Harry, regardless of the fact that he hadn’t written lately, and the way she and Ron had been ignoring one another since he’d tried to ask her out had finally made her feel guilty and lonely enough to write to her other best friend. She hoped the owl had a chance of finding Harry, wherever he was.

They each sent their birds off in silence, Draco watching his go with a mix of panic and relief. He could tell that Hermione was annoyed with him for his terseness. The reasonable part of him understood that it wasn’t fair to punish her for something she didn’t even know was occurring. How could she know the havoc she had wreaked upon his family? But he didn’t want her to know. He couldn’t decide if it was because he was trying to protect her, or because he didn’t want her to know she had that much power.

Hermione turned to go. It was clear that Malfoy was in no mood to talk to her. Fine. He knew where to find her when he was done brooding.

“Granger.”

She paused in the doorway, then turned back around to look at him expectantly. He didn’t know what to say. He just didn’t want her to leave in that mood. He took a step toward her, then another, until they were a few feet apart.

Hermione regarded him quietly, knowing that if he offered no answers, she would get none. He seemed… different, sometimes. Ever since Christmas. But maybe she was imagining things. A lot seemed different lately.

Draco watched her for a moment. Her hair was as disheveled as ever, and a lock of it hung in her eyes. He was so used to being able to touch her, and so it seemed nothing at all to him when he stepped forward and smoothed the hair back behind her ear. That in itself might have given them away. But it was Granger’s smile that left no room for doubt.

“Hermione?”

Granger flinched. Her back was to the door, so that only Draco could see the new arrival. But he surmised that it was impossible for her not to recognize that voice. Draco sneered as he recognized the freckly excuse for a face that belonged to the one person he loathed almost as much as Harry Potter.  
“…Ron?” Hermione’s voice quavered as she slowly turned to face Ron. His expression confirmed her fears that he had witnessed their exchange.“Oh no…”

“Here we go,” Draco muttered.

Hermione pleaded for his understanding, but knew that that was far too much to ask. “Ron, before you say anything—”

“Go on, Hermione,” Ron said, his face reddening with anger. “Try to convince me that this isn’t as bad as it looks.”

What could she possibly say? “I—”

“She doesn’t have to explain,” Draco said coldly.

“What was that, Malfoy?” Ron snapped, his attention shifting to the blonde boy and his voice filling with hatred.

“You heard me,” Draco said defiantly. “She doesn’t have to explain. You’ve already got your mind made up, so spare her the effort.”

“Draco—” Hermione began, hoping to keep him from making things any worse, but was cut off by Ron.

“‘ _Draco_ ,’ is it?” Ron sneered.

“Yeah.” Draco’s mouth turned up in a smirk. “Does that bother you, Weaselby?”

Obviously determined to provoke Ron as much as possible, Draco snaked an arm around her waist possessively. Hermione braced herself for the worst.

“Get your hands off her!” Ron snarled, and Hermione flinched reflexively.

“Why?” Draco retorted as he looked down at Hermione. “She’s not afraid of _me_.”

Hermione groaned inwardly and tried to extricate herself from Draco’s grasp. Of course he had to make everything worse!

“Ron, please listen—” But he cut her off again.

“No! You lied to me. You said there wasn’t anyone else!”

Hermione cringed and looked away, hurt by the truth of his accusation. She had lied. For months. To one of her two best friends, no less. Maybe she deserved this. She had known all along that this was how Ron was going to react. She just hadn’t counted on Draco’s involvement.

“Like you would’ve accepted the truth if she’d told you!” Draco was half-laughing now. “You’re only this angry because it’s me.”

“And why shouldn’t I be?” Ron countered. “You’re the last person on Earth she should be messing about with! I don’t know how you got her to go along with this, but I’ll find out! The Hermione I know wouldn’t be caught dead with you!”

Hermione felt a horrible pang in her heart. On that score he was right: she was a far cry from the Hermione that Ron knew. When and how that disconnect had occurred, she didn’t know.

“Then you obviously don’t know her very well, do you?” Draco retorted. “Not that I’m surprised.”

“Ron.” Hermione said quietly, her voice imploring him to understand. He looked disgusted with her and didn’t answer. “Ron, please listen to me. You owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Ron growled.

“I understand why you’re upset—” Ron scoffed, but Hermione continued. “I do. I shouldn’t have lied to you. But you have no right to punish me for seeing someone else when you didn’t have the courage to ask me sooner. I’m sorry that I lied to you, but I have nothing else to be sorry for.”

Draco blinked, impressed. His arm was still around Granger’s waist.

Ron looked back and forth between the two of them in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind, Hermione? He’s Draco bloody Malfoy! He hates you! He’s done nothing but bully all of us for years! He tried to kill Dumbledore!”

“I can take care of myself, Ronald!” Hermione snapped. “If you haven’t noticed, he hasn’t done anything to me yet and he’s had dozens of chances.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure he’s been doing ‘nothing,’” Ron said sarcastically. “It’s all been pillow fights and picnics in the park, has it?”

“He hasn’t hurt me,” Hermione clarified, though inwardly she wasn’t sure if that was technically true, and she couldn’t keep from blushing. “He hasn’t tried to use me for information. He hasn’t taken me to Voldemort.”

Draco tried to keep his confident smirk in place, though Granger’s words were difficult to swallow. He had come too close for comfort to doing those things.

Ron made a noise of disbelief and glared at Malfoy challengingly.Draco straightened up and glared back, before happening upon a delicious idea.

“I think what gets to you most of all, Weasley, is that she _chose_ this. I didn’t force her into anything. She _wanted_ it.” He slid his hand over her stomach suggestively before turning to nuzzle her ear. “Didn’t you, pet?”

Hermione flushed with shame as Ron stared at her in abject horror. Her lack of denial was confirmation enough.

Ron shook his head violently, trying not to believe what he was seeing. “She would never—”

“You were so blind,” Draco continued, willfully oblivious to Hermione’s sounds of protest. “There she was all that time, yours for the taking, but you didn’t notice her. You can hardly blame me for seizing the opportunity. I mean, look at her.”

Hermione hid her face as Draco pulled her robes taut from the back, accentuating her figure. She didn’t have the energy for this. She was a hairsbreadth away from losing one of her closest friends, and Malfoy was too busy trying to win a pissing contest to notice that she was on the brink of tears.

“Stop that!” Ron yelled, mortified. “She’s not a piece of meat, Malfoy!”

“I happen to enjoy the way she looks,” Draco said calmly as he let go of her robes and looked her up and down. “Don’t you?”

Hermione stared resolutely at the stone floor.

Ron swallowed, not knowing what to say. Of course he liked the way Hermione looked. But not the way Malfoy did. She was more to him than that. “I-I would never—”

“Maybe you should have,” Draco interrupted. “She deserves to be looked at. And you made her feel as if she were nothing at all. Why do you think it was so easy for me to step in?”

This was unbearable. Hermione never would have thought that being fought over by two boys would be so degrading.

Ron was torn between guilt and anger, not wanting to accept the possibility that this might somehow be his fault. He loved Hermione. He had never meant to wait so long to show her that.

“Hermione, please,” Ron said gently as he reached an arm out toward her. “He’s only going to end up hurting you.”

Hermione swallowed, tears sliding down her cheeks as she voiced one of her fears. “No matter what I do now you’re still going to hate me for this.”

Ron stared at her for a moment, stunned.

“I… Hermione, I could never hate you.”

Draco suddenly felt like an intruder on a very private moment. He watched in silence.

Hermione wiped her face, but was unable to look at either of them. Of course Ron had to choose this moment to be decent. It only made it harder. “I promise we’ll talk about this later,” she said finally to Ron, hoping he’d get the hint. Ron seemed reluctant to go, but nodded. He took a moment to glare at Malfoy once more before leaving the owlry.

Draco shifted and looked over at Granger. She was no longer crying. He was about to speak when she rounded on him, eyes shining with anger.

“I don’t _believe_ you!”

“What?” Draco was completely taken aback.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Your little show! He’s convinced you’re treating me horribly, and you had to go and prove him right!”

“I was standing up for you!” Draco protested.

“You were showing off!” Hermione said as she shook her head in disgust.

“Granger—”

“Spare me,” Hermione snapped. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see if I can salvage my relationship with one of my best friends.”

She left without a backward glance, and Draco kicked the wooden door in frustration. This only gave him a bruised toe and awoke half the school owls, who hooted and glared at him menacingly for disturbing them. How he was able to keep forgetting that Granger was such a stubborn and ungrateful girl was beyond him.


	25. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Draco was furious. He had sent a letter to his mother all but proclaiming protection of Granger. He had defended her against Weasley. And now she was angry with him?! It was predictable, really. She always was a stubborn, selfish, ungrateful little—

The pain of his foot connecting with the frame of his bed interrupted the flow of Draco’s thoughts, and the silence of the empty dormitory room was broken by a magnificent stream of colorful and imaginative swear words.

It was going to be a _lovely_ day.

*****

Hermione and Ron sat in the grass near a tree that they had often studied together under in happier times. It was one of the only places they could talk privately. They were several feet apart, not looking at each other. The sun was warm on Hermione’s skin, but it did not ease the chill within her as she waited, heart in her throat, for Ron to speak.

Ron shifted awkwardly. When he finally spoke, he was still staring at the grass near his feet rather than at her. It was too hard to look at her and not think about _him_.

“How long?”

Hermione hesitated for a moment, but resolved to tell him the truth about everything, no matter how painful it was or how angry he would be. The thread that held their relationship together might snap under the weight of an additional lie. Her voice quavered slightly when she spoke.

“Since just after first term started….”

Ron felt a sharp pang in his chest. If he had been standing he might have staggered. Nearly six months. She had kept this from him for nearly _six months_ and he hadn’t realized that she was seeing someone until after Christmas. He might never have guessed that it was Malfoy if he hadn’t caught them together. Her betrayal was momentarily overshadowed by his devastation at his own obliviousness. How could he claim to be her friend and not have noticed this?

They were silent again for a few minutes. Then Ron swallowed, steeling himself to ask his next question.

“Why him?”

Hermione was in agony. Anything she said would hurt Ron, but she would not lie. So she explained as simply and honestly as she could, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and shame as the words left her lips.

“He… he wanted me.”

Ron experienced another pang in his chest. He shook his head in disbelief. None of this made any sense. The Malfoy he knew liked nothing better than to torment Hermione. He wouldn’t be caught dead with a Muggle-born witch. And the Hermione he knew would never let that ferret touch her. She would know that he must be using her. She would never….

Except that she had. The way she had smiled when Malfoy tucked her hair behind her ear in the owlery…. That told Ron more than finding them shagging would have. It was the smile she used to reserve only for him. It was devastating enough to be able to assume that Hermione and that git had been shagging—It was _Malfoy_ , after all—when Ron had been certain that he and Hermione would have their first time together. But the smile she had given Malfoy cut him even more deeply. Because that smile meant that it wasn’t just sex for her.

“I… wanted…” Ron said awkwardly. “I _still_ want….”

Hermione smiled sadly, though Ron still wasn’t looking at her, so he couldn’t see. “I know. It just took so long for you to show it that I doubted….”

Ron groaned guiltily. If only he hadn’t been such a coward about telling her how he felt, none of this might have happened. They could have been together now. They could have been happy. He wasn’t ready to go so far as to say she was blameless, or to forgive her, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that he ought to have made it clearer to her how much she meant to him.

As it was, all he could do now was figure out what they were going to do from here. He still cared about her. He didn’t want to lose her as a friend. He was angry with her, and hurt, and he didn’t understand what she was doing with Malfoy… but she was still Hermione.

“I…” Ron finally looked up at Hermione, whose eyes were red with unshed tears. She bit her lip worriedly as she waited for him to continue. “I’m going to need some time to think about this.”

Her tears spilled onto her cheeks and Ron had to fight the instinct to wrap his arms around her. He wasn’t ready to touch her yet, knowing that Malfoy had had his way with her body for months. He wondered if he would ever be able to separate her from _him_ in his mind again.

“O-okay,” Hermione said softly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Ron got to his feet, hesitated, gave her one last glance, then headed back to the castle.

Hermione sat beneath the tree, her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin on her knee. She bit back her sobs. Part of her wanted to run to Draco, to hide with him in the Room of Requirement until all of her pain and guilt was consumed by his passion. But she was still so angry with him for showing off in front of Ron that her pride wouldn’t let her go to him.

She spent the remainder of the morning under the tree, her mind playing over everything that had happened with Draco, everything Ron had said, and every possibility of what might happen next in a loop. When the shade the tree provided and the stillness with which she sat finally caused her to be cold despite the warm spring air, she returned to the castle and spent the rest of the day in bed. Thankfully she did not run into Ron in the Common Room. She told Ginny she was too ill to go to dinner, and while her friend did not seem the least bit deceived by her lie, she left Hermione alone.

*****

He scowled his way through breakfast. The casualties of his dining lay strewn across the table like fallen soldiers on a battlefield: decimated sausages, toppled glasses of pumpkin juice, toast that had been torn into a dozen pieces.

He spent the majority of the morning taking house points from every student that had been unlucky enough to cross his path. He had to stop himself from accidentally punishing a first-year Slytherin in the process. By lunch time even his housemates sat a safe distance away and kept their eyes carefully trained away from him.

The afternoon found him surreptitiously ripping random pages out of library books.

During dinner he did little more than glare at his potatoes while imagining Granger and Weasley suffering a diverse array of excruciating tortures. The few students who had been brave enough to chance a glance his way left swearing that he had made a pat of butter melt through sheer force of will.

The dormitory was empty again when he returned after dinner. It was quiet. Too quiet. The quiet made him think. He didn’t want to think. Thinking meant visions of Granger and Weasley “salvaging their relationship.”

A cloud of feathers exploded into the air surrounding Draco’s four-poster, and he looked down to find that his hand was tightly clenched around his wand. There would be little chance of mending his pillow. He scowled and kicked the bed frame with his already injured foot, causing him to create entirely new swear words in a fit of enraged genius.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Viciously swatting the feathers away from his face, he grabbed the handle of his broomstick and stormed to the window.

*****

Hermione awoke well after dark. Her eyes hurt from crying and it took her several minutes to remember the events of the day. It was not until she rolled over that she realized what had woken her: Malfoy was standing next to her bed.

Though she ached to be near him, Hermione remembered the way he had acted around Ron, and instead she glared at him. “What do you want?”

Draco forced down a surge of rage and kept his voice even. “You weren’t at dinner.”

Hermione sat up and scowled, folding her arms across her chest. “And why should you care?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed and he shrugged. “Just making an observation.”

“I don’t want to see you right now,” said Hermione, incensed by his nonchalance. Clearly she would get no apology from him. “Please leave.”

“When have I ever listened to you, Granger?”

Malfoy’s cocky smirk only served to anger Hermione further.

“Get. Out.” She pointed toward the window, where Draco’s broomstick was propped against the sill.

“I don’t feel like leaving yet,” said Draco stubbornly.

Furious, Hermione got out of her bed, still fully clothed from earlier in the day, and stood before him in one swift movement. She intended to unleash the full force of her anger on him, but instead she was overcome by lightheadedness. If Draco hadn’t had a Seeker’s reflexes, she might have dashed her head on the stone floor.

Draco caught her in his arms just after her knees buckled. She seemed to lose consciousness for a split second before the jolt of him catching her revived her. She weakly tried to push him away, but he lifted her up and laid her on the bed despite her protests. He certainly wasn’t going to leave now that she had nearly fainted in front of him.

“When did you last eat?”

She couldn’t discern a note of concern in his voice or see any in his expression. She hated how cold he was. She hated how she could never tell how he felt, or if he felt anything at all. It took her a moment to figure out when her last meal had been.

“Dinner yesterday.” The answer surprised her as much as it did him. Hermione knew she ought to feel hungry, but she was so tired, physically and emotionally, that all she wanted was to slip back into unconsciousness.

The last thing she saw before her eyes drifted shut again was Draco scowling down at her. She smiled dreamily and whispered, “There’s a feather in your hair.”

Draco muttered several additional curse words under his breath for good measure and stalked off toward the window.

*****

When she woke for the second time, he was sitting at the edge of her bed, holding out a loaf of bread with an irritated look on his face.

“Eat this before you pass out again.”

Hermione’s stomach seemed to come to life at the thought of food and she blushed as it rumbled audibly. She took the bread gratefully and began to tear off small pieces, knowing that she would have to eat slowly after going over a full day between meals.

“ _Aguamenti_ ,” Draco said as he pointed his wand at an empty glass on her bedside table. She took the water and drank carefully, soothing her dry mouth and throat and replenishing the moisture she had lost in tears.

They sat in silence while she ate her fill of the bread and drank several glasses of water, which Draco refilled for her. When she had finished, she lay back down and pulled the covers over herself. She was chilled with fatigue even though the room was relatively warm, and she was still very weak.

“Are you going to tell me to leave again?” Draco asked wryly.

Hermione shook her head. She was too tired to be angry with him anymore, and she was grateful that he had been thoughtful enough to bring her food. She cherished the rare moments when he seemed almost tender.

Draco chuckled and kicked off his shoes, crawling into the familiar bed without permission or objection from Hermione. She was shivering though the bed was warm, and as he had done months before in his own bed, he pulled her to him and held her against his chest until her shaking subsided. They were both fully clothed, which was very strange after all the time they had spent naked together in that bed.

Their secret was crumbling, and she was going to be hit with the full force of it, Draco knew. The worst that he might endure if their relationship became public would be some teasing from his estranged friends. His family had already all but disowned him. She, on the other hand, could lose her closest friends, and face the ridicule of the entire school.

She began shaking again and Draco realized that she was crying. He hated when she cried. He never knew how to handle it. He had no words of comfort to give her. He wouldn’t lie and tell her that things would be all right, because they wouldn’t. They were in a bind, and things were probably going to get worse before they got better, especially for her.

“You’re an idiot,” he teased gently.

Hermione smiled ever so slightly and pressed her face into Draco’s upper arm, which served as a makeshift pillow as she lay with her back against his chest. Her tears dampened the fabric of his shirt sleeve, but he didn’t pull away. His other arm was warm and heavy draped across her waist.

“You don’t have to stay,” she murmured tiredly against his arm.

“Of course I don’t have to,” he said irritably, and she could feel his voice rumbling against her back.

They lay quietly together until Draco was half asleep, convinced that Hermione had long passed into unconsciousness until her soft voice sounded.

“Draco?”

“Hm?”

Hermione hesitated and turned her body so that she faced him. “What’ll you do once we leave school?”

Draco thought for a moment, trying to figure out where this conversation was going. “Probably manage the family affairs.” _If I still have a family_ , he thought bitterly. “What about you? Professor? Minister of Magic?”

Hermione smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know, actually.”

Draco propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at her in disbelief. “How can you not know? You’re Head Girl! You could have any job you want.”

Her eyes evaded his as she answered seriously, “Only if we win.”

It took Draco a moment for the meaning of her answer to sink in. The reality of the roles they played in an epic struggle hit him unexpectedly hard. Both their gazes flitted toward his left forearm for a split second before he forced his expression and voice to convey nonchalance.

“Potter always wins,” Draco said dismissively, as much to assuage his own fears about what might happen to her if Potter lost as to reassure her on the subject.

Hermione nodded, as unconvinced as Draco was that things would turn out all right. “You… You could help us, Draco. You know things. You—”

“No.” His answer was abrupt and firm.

“But—”

“I’m tired of being used,” Draco said seriously, looking Hermione in the eyes to reinforce his point. “And I won’t do that to my family. I’ve done enough as it is.”

Hermione wasn’t known as the brightest witch of her age for nothing. She could sense that there was something about Draco’s relationship with his parents that he had been concealing from her. She had suspected as much since soon after the Christmas holidays. But to ask him about it would be pointless, and might anger him.

“I’m sorry,” she said genuinely. “I wasn’t thinking.”

In the fervent wish that he could be able to say the same, Draco pinned his beautiful, infuriating, brilliant witch to the bed and crushed his lips against hers with a passion that carried the full force of the anger he had been fueled by since leaving the owlery that morning.

She didn’t have the strength to return his fervor, but her fingers found purchase in his hair in a sign of affectionate encouragement. As his hands roamed her clothed body with firm possessiveness, she answered his kisses and touches with a gentle acceptance that soothed the anger out of him.

They undressed each other beneath the sheets until they were skin to skin and it seemed as if they had regained a sense of normalcy. With every touch he reminded her why it was worthwhile to endure Ron’s hurt and disappointment, and she made him understand why she had the power to make him angrier than anyone else could.

When his fingers trailed down her stomach to part the lips of her pussy he found her wet and wanting. She shivered as his middle finger flicked over her clit and he watched her face by what little light there was. Without hesitation she brought her hands to her chest to tease her pebbled nipples. He smirked with pride as he thought about how much she had changed since she had first agreed to take ‘lessons’ from him. She was at home in her body now, and she had nearly as much mastery of her sexuality as any of the magic she had learned. What capped this realization was the fact that she shared this part of herself only with him. And he never tired of accepting it.

Hermione gasped her pleasure in breathy sighs as Draco’s finger stroked over her clit in a way that teased her into blissful sensation without giving her release. Her fingers tugged at her nipples as she arched her hips into his hand insistently in a silent plea.

“Pinch them,” Draco whispered roughly into her ear, and Hermione complied without hesitation. The slight pain magnified her pleasure just as Draco stopped teasing and stroked his finger firmly over her clit, and she groaned his name unabashedly as her orgasm overtook her.

Draco nibbled at her neck and collarbone as her trembling subsided. He knew that she must be exhausted. Getting her off had left him harder than he cared to admit, but he wasn’t going to force himself on a witch who had nearly fainted only a few hours previously. He had just decided to ignore his own needs and let her sleep when she parted her legs in silent invitation.

“Sure you won’t faint?” he teased hopefully.

“I’m stronger than you think,” she said with a playful challenge in her voice.

That was all the reassurance he needed. As wet as she was, he entered her with relative ease. She contracted around him reflexively and he shivered in pleasure. How could he even have considered letting her go to sleep?

Hermione began to move against Draco in an attempt to fill the need to ride out her orgasm. Every nerve seemed to be hypersensitive, and she wanted him as deep and as hard as he could go until it was more than she could take.

Draco quickly obliged. He matched her movements until she stilled and allowed him to set the rhythm. With each thrust she gasped or moaned, words flowing from her lips without thought. His name, “fuck,” “good,” “yes,” and “more” were among the most common, but she employed an extensive vocabulary.

Her hands were braced against his chest and her legs were splayed on either side of him. Her body absorbed the force of each thrust as if it were made to do nothing else, sending tingles to the tips of her fingers and toes. And just when she felt as if she had reached her limit, he gripped her legs roughly and gave one final thrust.

His fingers dug into her thighs as he came, her scream of pleasure echoing his shout, as if she somehow shared in his orgasm. He held her to him as he slowly let his muscles relax, heedless of the sweat that covered both their skin. When their gasping had subsided into heavy breathing, he pulled away to lie on his back beside her.

She giggled and made a mock disgusted noise at the mess they had made of each other and her sheets. He rolled his eyes and reached for his wand, muttering a quick _Scourgify_ before letting his arm fall limp against the bed, his wand rolling out of his relaxed hand. It was forgotten before it even hit the carpeted floor.

With a cautiousness she had learned from encountering his volatile moods, Hermione slid herself closer to him until she was resting against his side. Wordlessly, he threw his arm around her waist. She sighed in relieved contentment and nuzzled her face against his shoulder. Neither had the strength to be guarded against such signs of affection. The strength of their mutual anger with each other and the force of their reconciliation spoke more loudly than any tender touch could.


	26. Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Spring was in full bloom and still Ron and Hermione had not spoken again about her relationship with Draco. They went about as friends in the public eye: they ate and studied together and conversed amicably. But their conversations never broached anything personal, and they were characterized by an awkwardness that made it difficult to be alone with one another. Hermione admitted to herself that it was better than fighting with Ron or not speaking to him, but she could tell that she was a long way from receiving his acceptance or forgiveness.

Since their twelve-hour row and subsequent reconciliation, Draco and Hermione had returned to a state of what passed for normalcy in their relationship. Draco often visited her room at night or asked her to meet him in the Room of Requirement. Sometimes he stayed and fell asleep beside her, but he was always gone by morning.

There was no more discussion of Ron or of the War or of the future. Hermione forced herself to ignore how gaunt Draco had begun to grow again, how the mark on his arm seemed darker sometimes than it had been before. She felt as if she were in a constant state of anxiously waiting for everything to fall apart, while simultaneously pretending that it wouldn’t.

And so it happened that when everything changed abruptly, it was for a reason that Hermione had all but forgotten about. She was studying in the library after dinner one warm spring evening when Ron came to find her. She didn’t want to speak to him at that moment. Things between them were still so awkward and difficult to handle.

“Hermione,” he called as he approached her table. His face was flushed with an emotion she couldn’t immediately identify.

“Not now, Ron.” She attempted to deter him by indicating the books and parchment strewn across the table in front of her. “I’m trying to finish my Arithmancy essay.”

“It’s Harry.”

She dropped her quill and locked eyes with Ron. Her heart seemed to stop for a moment, frozen by fear.

At the look on her face, Ron quickly continued. “He’s all right.”

Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Leave it to Ron to scare her half to death by not thinking to reveal that information first. “Then what is it?”

“He’s found one.” He gave her a significant look, wary of Madam Pince’s presence. He could only be referring to one thing. “He needs our help getting it.”

Her thoughts began to race wildly. “Where? Which one is it?” She shook her head, knowing that he couldn’t answer those questions except in private. “But school’s nearly over! What about our exams? How will we explain?”

A small smile tugged up the corner of Ron’s mouth as he listened to her. It was the first real smile she had seen on his face since before he had found out about Draco. And then his expression was serious again.

“I don’t know. But we _have_ to go.” He paused, remembering the current state of their relationship. “I mean, _I’m_ going to. But he’s asked for you, too. He sent this.”

Ron held out a letter with her name on it, addressed unmistakably in Harry’s handwriting. She accepted it wordlessly.

“I haven’t opened it,” Ron said as an afterthought, and Hermione nodded as she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I’ve found one. Can’t say much about it here. I know it’s rotten timing with the end of term coming up, and I’ll understand if you want to wait and join us later, but I could really use your help on this one. I realize now that I took for granted how much I relied on having you around, and not just for your brains._

_Ron’s told me about Malfoy. Don’t be too hard on him about it. I got a less biased account from Ginny after he told me. You know how I feel about Malfoy, and I won’t pretend that I’m not bothered by it. Still, that doesn’t change how I feel about you. It doesn’t for Ron, either. I think he’s only so upset because he cares so much. We both want you to be happy, even though it’s hard to suppress the urge to rush back to school and hex that ferret six ways from Tuesday. And Ron and I both know we haven’t the right to tell you what to do._

_I know Ron’s intent on keeping you safe, but we’ll both feel better if you’re here, and we know that you can take care of yourself. Don’t feel obligated, but do feel wanted._

_Harry_

Hermione had to wipe her eyes as she folded the parchment back up and tucked it away in her bookbag. Ron, who had stood by quietly while she read the letter, shifted awkwardly and looked as if he were about to leave. Hermione stood and put her hand around his wrist gently, drawing him into an embrace. After he recovered from his initial surprise, he ran his hand over her back soothingly until the few small sobs she emitted subsided. She missed Harry terribly, and she missed being close to Ron.

They had to go to Harry. Nothing was more important than making sure he was safe and helping him destroy the horcruxes. Whatever differences she and Ron had right now, they were united in their concern for their friend.

It was only when Hermione returned to her bedroom that night that she allowed herself to think about what all of this would mean for her arrangement with Draco. It was the first time she was relieved to have slept through the night without waking to find him at her window.

*****

The next day was agonizing.Part of her mind kept furiously turning over every alternative while another had already accepted that there was no other way. This wasn’t only a question of the fate of their world. It was _Harry_. His fate was tied to that of every witch and wizard in Britain and beyond, but what mattered most to Hermione was that she do everything she could to keep her friend—all but her _brother_ —safe.

And yet she knew that going to Harry’s aid would mean the end of whatever it was that she and Draco had together. Standing by Harry’s side would mean accepting once and for all that she was in the middle of a war, and that the person that she—

A sob that was mixed with bitter laughter wracked her body as she finally admitted the truth to herself. She clutched one of the four posts that framed her bed for support. All intention of going down to dinner was suddenly forgotten. _Loved_. The person that she _loved_ was for all intents and purposes on the opposite side of that war. Whether he wanted to be or not.

Months ago, after she and Draco had slept together for the first time, she had evaded Ginny’s question of whether or not she was in love with Draco. She hadn’t really known how she felt at the time. Everything was mixed up together: lust and affection seemed so different but it was hard to tell which of her actions were dictated by which feelings. She had simply felt irrevocably and irresistibly drawn to Draco.

She now knew that she couldn’t have loved him back then. She didn’t know him well enough. She still wasn’t certain that she knew him well at all, but they had been through so much together. She had come to rely on him for comfort and affirmation. She wanted him around. She hadn’t allowed herself to really think about what that meant or how it was going to play out.

The fact of the matter was that it was always going to end badly. Even if he could somehow feel the same way about her, how could they overcome the fact that she was at the right hand of Wizardkind’s last hope for salvation, while he was not only the son of one of Voldemort’s main followers but also a marked Death Eater in his own right?

He had left all of that behind him. He had told her so on a night that seemed an age ago, and she had believed him before she had ever known that she could love him. She still believed him. But he had neither the freedom nor the courage to help Harry and the Order of the Phoenix. She couldn’t ask him to make that sacrifice even if he would. She could not ask him to betray his family. Not for the sake of the Wizarding World, and certainly not for her own sake.

Instead of glowing with the blissful acceptance of love realized, Hermione felt that her heart was being crushed under the weight of reality. She was a sensible person, and she had hidden long enough from the truth: She loved Draco Malfoy. And though that seemed the most important thing in the world to her in that moment, she knew that it meant nothing in the face of what lay ahead.

She was certain that there could be no happy ending for them.

*****

_Dear Harry,_

_Of course I’ll join you and Ron! You know that I’d hate to leave school when we’re so close to finishing, but I know that helping you is the most important thing I can do right now. Besides, if I don’t finish up this year then I’ll have to come back and drag you and Ron with me to complete your education too, won’t I?_

_I sent you off with most of the resources I’d collected, but there are some other things I can bring with me that might help us. If we begin planning now we should be able to join you in a few weeks. That should give you enough time to think of a way of meeting up with us safely._

_Please be careful, now more than ever. It feels as if everything is accelerating, and we’ll need to work quickly and carefully to keep ahead of the other side._

_I’m looking forward to seeing you!_

_Love from Hermione_

There. No mention of Draco. And she resolved that she wouldn’t ever mention him again. Not to her friends, not to anyone. All of that would soon be over, and everyone would probably be better off for it.

As the school owl took wing Hermione gathered her things and forced herself to clear her mind and prepare herself for lessons. Though any coursework she did now wouldn’t matter, they had to keep acting as if nothing had changed. They couldn’t risk anyone but Ginny knowing that they were leaving until after they had already gone.

*****

Draco sighed in relief as he eased himself into the hot bath. He was no longer allowed to use the Prefects’ bath since his title had been revoked, but he was grateful even for the far less opulent bathroom that was open to the rest of the students.

He looked down at the mark on his left arm, its form distorted by the clear water. For the first time in two days the pain was bearable. Every muscle in his body was knotted from the tension caused by the fire that burned beneath his skin. At times Draco had seriously entertained thoughts of severing his arm at the elbow, or cutting the offending skin out of his arm.

Draco’s mind shifted back and forth between wondering what had caused this surge of anger or glee—it was impossible to tell which—from the Dark Lord and wondering egotistically if He occasionally sent an extra jolt of pain Draco’s way every now and then to punish him and remind him of what the Dark Lord did to traitors.

The hot water numbed the tattooed skin considerably, and Draco found to his relief that the heat also helped some of his muscles to relax a bit. He fervently wished that he could ask Hermione to massage some of the headache-inducing knots out of his back and neck, but he was too proud to admit to her that something had made him so tense.

He thought of her smooth, warm palms sliding over his skin and longed to be in her bed. Everything there was warm and soothing and her scent and closeness lulled him into sleep until the nightmares shook him into consciousness once more.

When she wasn’t near it was Sixth Year all over again. He ate and slept far less often than he ought to, and the health he had regained since coming under the protection of the Order of the Phoenix and returning to school was beginning to diminish again. A witch as observant as Hermione couldn’t fail to have noticed the weight he’d lost, the dark patches beneath his eyes. He was torn between feeling grateful to her for not asking about it and craving her concern and comfort. But she had also seemed more sober in the past few weeks. Less prone to smile. More fragile, perhaps. Maybe she was too preoccupied with her own cares to worry about him.

The letters from his mother had grown shorter and less frequent. He missed her terribly and worried for her safety. He even missed his father and the way his approval always made Draco feel like he could do anything. No matter how austere his parents could be, Draco had always felt loved. He hadn’t realized how much that had meant to him until he had been banished from the house where he had always been given whatever he wanted.

He was so tired. Everything ached. As his body became used to the temperature of the water he felt the inner chill of fear and worry seeping back into his bones. He wondered what he would do, where he would go once school was over. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t stay with her. There would be nowhere to go.

A familiar ache grew in his throat and he choked back the beginnings of tears. He refused to give in. He would enjoy what he had while he had it, and when it was over he’d survive. The war would end one way or another, and soon. If he lived through it, then he’d worry about the rest. It was better that his mother wasn’t writing as much. She’d be safer that way.

Draco stepped out of the bath and began to dry his hair roughly with a purple towel embossed with an H. He ran it over the rest of his body and reached for his clothes. The fabric of his shirt scratched across his forearm like sandpaper against a sunburn. He thought again of Hermione’s soothing hands and gritted his teeth against the pain.

*****

Several hours of Draco’s evening were devoted to arguing with himself about whether or not to go to Hermione’s room. He realized with chagrin that he had no interest in sex that evening. Not even to make him forget his fears. He was bone-tired and desperately needed a good night’s sleep. He wouldn’t get that if he slept alone.

When he stepped through her window it was well after midnight and he found her sleeping. He kicked off his shoes and slipped beneath the duvet as quietly as he could. Her familiar scent surrounded him and he relaxed against the pillow he had come to consider his. He thought that he had succeeded in not waking her, but as the covers began to warm him she stirred.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t even look up at him. She simply nestled herself against his side, her cheek resting against his shoulder. He hesitated for a moment, but in for a penny, in for a pound. He shifted and pulled her closer. Her arm rested against his chest and she sighed sleepily. Before long she had fallen asleep again as if it were perfectly natural that he should be there. And in a way, it was.

He drifted off to sleep listening to the rhythm of her slow, even breathing. He woke suddenly three hours later, his heart racing beneath her small hand. His forearm throbbed as he shook the usual images—the Dark Lord’s snakelike face laughing cruelly, his mother crumpled lifeless in the dirt, Hermione screaming as the Cruciatus Curse wracked her body—out of his head.

This was the point when he usually left. This was when he’d give up on sleep and go back to his dormitory and lie in bed until dawn, exhausted but completely awake, staring at the canopy of his four-poster.

But this time he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving. Not when she was so warm against him and the fact that she was unhurt proved that his nightmares hadn’t yet come true. He’d stay just an hour or so more. No one would even know he’d been gone.

He was surprised to find later that he had slept easily until morning.

*****

Light flooded in through the room’s one window. Hermione stirred and opened her eyes. What day was it? What time was it? Monday. She had lessons. She’d better get up, then.

She tried to move, but the weight of Draco’s arm inhibited her. Why was he still there? She remembered him waking her briefly with his arrival in the middle of the night, but he had never stayed in her room until morning before. He wasn’t supposed to be there in the morning: people might see him if they came to find her, or he might be caught flying out of her window!

He opened his eyes and looked at her, and then around her room as if not quite certain how he had gotten there. When he registered the look of panic in her eyes he sat bolt upright.

“It’s morning,” he said with surprise as he hastily wiped the sleep out of his eyes.

“Yes, and we’ve got lessons today!” Hermione got out of bed and began rummaging through her closet.

“Fuck!” Draco cursed as he pulled on his shoes. His clothes were a wrinkled mess. How was he going to get back into his dormitory without being seen? There was no way he’d be able to fly when it was light out. That left him with only one option: he had to sneak out through Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione stopped halfway through buttoning her shirt and stared at him. “How are you going to leave without being seen?”

Draco grumbled in irritation. “I’ll have to sneak out after you.”

“And how exactly are you planning on ‘sneaking out’?” Her voice contained a patronizing note.

Draco rolled his eyes and picked up his broomstick in one hand and his wand in the other. He pointed his wand at himself and recited the incantation nonverbally.

Hermione gasped as he disappeared before her eyes: wand, broom, and all.

“You know how to cast the Disillusionment Charm?” she asked, impressed.

“I wasn’t a bloody Death Eater for nothing,” growled the disembodied, but clearly annoyed, voice of Draco. “Now hurry up. I’m going to be late as it is, and McGonagall doesn’t need another reason to give me detention.”

Hermione quickly finished dressing. She wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. She had to figure out how to tell him that she was leaving, or if she was even going to tell him at all.

When she had tamed her hair satisfactorily and gathered her things, she felt a weight fall on her shoulder. She jumped and felt the twigs of Draco’s broomstick touch her leg.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

His low chuckle rumbled near her left ear. Hermione gave an exasperated sigh and slung her bookbag over her shoulder.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Draco replied, getting a firm grip on Hermione’s shoulder so that he could stay close enough to follow her through doors and make sure no one ran into him.

They made it out of her room, down the stairs and through the portrait hole without incident. It seemed as if most of the other Gryffindors had already gone down to breakfast. When the portrait closed behind them, Draco released Hermione’s shoulder.

“Where are you?” she whispered tentatively as she readjusted her bag.

Draco moved behind her and rested a hand on her hip. It was probably best not to speak in case anyone followed them out of the portrait hole and happened to hear him.

Hermione hesitated. “Will you meet me tonight?”

“Where?” The faint whisper was hot against her ear and she shivered. She could feel his warmth against her back. Maybe it would be better not to tell him. Maybe she could simply leave.

But then she would truly be the coward that he had said she was.

“The Room of Requirement,” she said as loudly as she dared.

She heard and felt him shift, then “All right” was breathed against her lips before he kissed her. She had to close her eyes because it was too strange not to see him in front of her. The ache he always ignited within her began to stir as he bit her lower lip gently, and she pulled away. She didn’t want to arrive to class with lust-darkened lips and eyes.

By the time she reached out to figure out where he was, he had gone.


	27. Immolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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When Draco arrived at the Room of Requirement, Granger was already there. Usually it was he who showed up first. She looked up as he closed the door behind him, but gave him no smile. Perhaps she was angry with him. She always seemed to find some reason or other to be in a sour mood when it suited her. Well, it wasn’t as if he had asked her to come here this time!

But she wasn’t angry. As he walked toward her, she stood and met him halfway. She stood on her toes, clutched the front of his robes, and kissed him enthusiastically. When he recovered from the surprise of her forwardness, he took back control and wrapped an arm around her waist to help her balance.

Before long her hands moved to unfasten his robes. He began to reciprocate, but it was difficult with only one free hand. She was loosening his tie before the clasp of her robes came free. She had the first few buttons of his shirt undone before he had even touched her tie. She hadn’t been this eager for a shag since—

In the back of Draco’s mind, a faint alarm sounded, muffled by the haze of lust that was dampening all thought. Something about this was different than usual. Something about this was distantly familiar in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. He reluctantly pulled away from her kiss.

“Not that I’m complaining, but this seems a bit out of character.”

She continued unbuttoning his shirt without looking up. “It’s out of character for me to want to sleep with you?”

Draco covered her hands with one of his to stop their progress. He lifted her chin with two fingers of the other hand. “No. You just usually aren’t in this much of a rush. Got somewhere to be?”

She avoided his eyes and began to kiss the fingers that were trying to force her to look at him. The alarm was drowned out by the sound of his blood rushing past his ears. The grip of his hand on hers slackened and she finished undoing the last of his shirt buttons. Her smooth palms ran over his chest and he was soothed and excited all at once. Even after months of being able to shag her whenever he wanted, she still made him want her somehow.

“Please,” she said in a voice that sounded half-eager, half-desperate.

“Where?” Draco growled against her neck as he began to kiss it, loosening her tie and undoing the top buttons of her shirt so he could reach more of her skin. He hoped she’d pick someplace interesting: he had grown a bit bored of beds lately.

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and it hung around his elbows.

“I don’t care.”

“You always care,” Draco countered mid-snog.

“Stop arguing,” she said with a playful note in her voice as her hands moved to Draco’s belt.

“Not arguing,” he breathed. “Just curious.”

He felt her lips against his ear and her next words made him wish that he hadn’t bothered putting on his trousers before coming over because they were such a bloody nuisance now.

“Anywhere you want.”

Draco threw both of them to the floor without further ado. He undid the remaining buttons of her shirt so quickly that some of them were almost lost in the process. When he looked down at her bra, he paused, and a wicked smile spread across his features.

Slytherin green.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” he said as he unfastened her skirt. “And knickers to match! Did you do this for me, Granger?”

She bit her lip coyly and kicked her skirt away. “Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy.”

He chuckled. They hadn’t indulged in this kind of banter in what seemed like months. Everything had been so serious lately. It felt good to smile, to laugh. She was one of the few people he could do that around these days.

Shoes and socks were discarded as quickly as he could manage and he finally freed himself of his accursed trousers. He crawled up her body and straddled her hips, careful not to put too much weight on her. She appeared deceptively delicate at times, though Draco had found himself on the wrong end of her strength on more than one occasion.

He rubbed his cock against her knickers through his own and her eyes closed slowly. She looked good in green, especially when her lips were dark with arousal and a flush of pink tinted her cheeks and chest.

“Where, Granger?” His hand trailed over her stomach and then up to her left breast, his fingers dancing over it through green silk. “On the bed?”

She made no sign of confirmation or denial as his hand moved to her other breast, avoiding her nipples teasingly. “On the sofa?”

Her back arched and she pressed her hips against his, apparently desperate for more contact. Good: he wanted her desperate. “Against the wall?”

She shook her head helplessly as if unable to decide.

“Right here on the floor?”

She pressed her hips into his insistently. “I don’t care.”

“You _always_ care,” Draco repeated as he let his fingers brush over her left nipple. It was pebbled beneath the silk.

“Please,” she gasped as her chest arched into his hand. He’d forgotten how much he liked it when she begged.

“Please what?”

“ _Please_ , Draco.” She made a noise of frustration as he moved his fingers away.

Draco looked her over for a moment, pondering the possibilities. There were so many options, and he definitely wanted to do something different since she was giving him the choice. She began to look uncomfortable and wiggled beneath him impatiently. Happening on a delicious idea, Draco smirked and rolled off of her.

“Let’s take a walk.”

She stared at him as if he were insane.

“Now? Why? I thought—”

“You said anywhere I want,” he countered with a wicked grin.

“You cannot be serious!”

Draco shrugged and stood to pull on his trousers and shirt. He didn’t bother to button the latter. He had fastened his robe and was putting on his shoes and she was still gawking at him from the floor in disbelief.

“You’ll want some clothing at least until we’re out of the castle.”

“Out of the—” She was apparently too horrified to finish the thought.

“Come on,” he insisted.

She didn’t look happy, but she obeyed. He knew that she was intrigued, or she would’ve put up more of a fight. Her skirt and blouse were donned haphazardly and he threw her robes around her to speed up the process. When she was decently dressed again, she seemed to recover her wits.

“We’ll be seen!”

Draco rolled his eyes. It never ceased to amaze him how such an intelligent witch could sometimes be so thick. He pointed his wand at her and muttered the incantation for the Disillusionment Charm. She gasped, and Draco imagined that she was feeling what he would describe as the sensation of a cold raw egg being broken over the top of one’s head.

She was nearly invisible until she reached her arm out toward him. He congratulated himself on the quality of his charm before turning his wand on himself. Soon they were two barely discernable shapes, each trying to keep track of where the other was. Draco took her hand and led her to the door. This would certainly be a change from the routine.

He could hear her breathing the whole way out of the castle, but couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or fear—probably both, knowing her. They managed to get out the front entrance without being seen, and once they were outside he felt her hand relax beneath his.

Even Draco, who had little appreciation for the outdoors, had to admit that it was a beautiful night. The sky was clear and the air had some of the chill that characterized nights in this part of the country even in late spring.

The Forbidden Forest was too dangerous a place to let oneself become distracted, but there was a cluster of trees near the lake that would provide decent shelter and privacy. He’d found that out thanks to Pansy a few years previously. He was fairly certain that no one would be about, but to reassure Granger he left the charms intact until they reached the trees. When she became visible again, she looked very uneasy.

“Wouldn’t it be better to go back?” she asked, and worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. It was endearing and arousing all at once.

Draco refused to dignify her question with a response, and instead took that enticing bottom lip between his own teeth. Her breath was hot against his chilled face, and he smiled when her tongue found his. She’d be glad for the change in venue when all was said and done. He suspected that, though she would never admit it, the possibility of being caught was something of a turn-on for her. Though he knew she’d be mortified if they actually were.

Their robes slipped off easily and were lain across the grass. Shirts, skirt, and trousers were removed again and thrown to the ground unceremoniously. Draco was distracted enough with removing her bra that he could ignore the twinge of pain as his knee landed on a large pebble. Dealing with roots and rocks was a small price to pay to have her naked with nothing but his body to shield her from the elements or the view of anyone who might find them. He loved that he could make her want him badly enough to overcome that kind of fear and embarrassment.

His mouth pressed against her chest and he took a cold-hardened nipple between his lips. She squirmed against him and tugged at his pants. He happily let her remove their remaining undergarments. It amused him how she lost control of her hands every time his tongue flicked over her flesh. She managed in the end, however. Good girl.

The ground was cold and hard beneath their robes, but she was as warm and soft as ever. His mouth moved to her other nipple and her body arched into his. He let one of his hands slide down her side and grip her hip. He sunk his fingers into her skin more harshly than he needed to, but she only groaned in pleasure. Her arms twined around his neck and her fingers tugged at his hair. His teeth grazed her nipple and she gasped.

Draco smiled to himself. She wanted it rough. It had been too long since she’d wanted it rough.

His lips found hers again and the hand that had been gripping her hip moved to part her legs. She opened them eagerly, and his fingers slid up her slit and came away wet. A sound of approval rumbled in his chest. He loved the feel of her, warm and slick beneath his fingers. He loved the way she trembled under his hands. He wanted to tease her, hear her gasp, make her beg.

One of his fingers circled her clit and she shook as if he hadn’t touched her in weeks. It was as hard as her nipples and her hips jerked when he flicked his finger over it. His mouth was at her breast again and his tongue flicked across her nipple in time with his finger. The fingers of his free hand brushed over her other nipple so that it wouldn’t feel left out.

She was writhing beneath him now. Some sort of fear or pride caused her to bite her lip rather than to cry out, but her fingers were threaded through his hair and her body was arched into his. He slid his finger into her and a small whimper of loss was replaced by a groan of want as he flexed his finger within her. She pressed her hips impatiently into his, insisting that what he was giving her was not nearly enough.

“What do you want, pet?” he asked with the cocky smirk that he knew she hated.

“You,” she gasped as she worked her hips against his hand.

He pressed a second finger into her and a low moan escaped her lips.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

Her frustration was evident as she tossed her head, but her hand reached between them and wrapped around his cock. His eyes closed for a moment and then opened to her smile of self-satisfaction. Perhaps he had taught her _too_ well, in hindsight. He allowed himself to enjoy her teasing grasp for a minute, but then he batted her hand away and removed his fingers. He couldn’t wait any longer.

Draco’s first thrust was a bit harder than it needed to be, but she met it with her own force. There was that moment of half-relief-half-impatience that always happened when his cock was finally inside her but he wanted so much more. She must be feeling it too. She was practically frantic in her eagerness to help him build up a good pace, and nothing seemed to be hard or fast enough for her.

It was unlikely that anyone could hear them unless they were very, very loud, but Hermione was still trying her best to muffle herself. His arms were on either side of her head, and she buried her face in his neck and pressed her lips and teeth against his skin with every thrust. The heat of her mouth and the twinges of pain as her teeth left fiery trails across his skin made Draco groan his own sounds of pleasure, and no sense of modesty made him hold them back.

It wasn’t long before his wrists began to ache with the effort of holding himself up. His hands were pressed painfully into the uneven ground, and they’d probably have some cuts and scrapes before they were done. Anxious not to leave her warmth for longer than was absolutely necessary, he said “On your knees” roughly into her ear and pulled away without further notice.

She obeyed his command instantly, and he congratulated himself on that victory. He allowed himself a moment to admire how sexy she looked on all fours before he had slammed back into her and she was gasping at the sensation of the new angle. She no longer had his skin to stifle her, but she didn’t seem to care. His fingers dug into her hips again and that only encouraged her. He drank in every sound she made and each gasp, moan, and whimper spurred on his pace.

Soon she was holding her weight with only one arm so that she could use her free hand to touch herself. Draco was panting with exertion, but the corners of his mouth turned up. She was never sexier than when she was so consumed with need that she would do practically anything to feel good. The picture in his mind of her fingers sliding over her clit affected him even more than the feeling of her contracting around him as her most sensitive nerves were stimulated.

His name was on her breath and she repeated it over and over as if it were the only word her mind could recall. It was a chant, a prayer, and Draco found that he rather liked being worshipped in this fashion. He loved that he could replace her smart remarks with the name she could never call him by around anyone else.

Her mantra increased in speed and volume, and Draco began uttering a stream of dirty words and colorful explanations of how good she felt around him. She came with a shuddering gasp, and in the process of helping her ride out her orgasm, he reached his as well. A few seconds later they were a sweaty, gasping mess.

Draco pulled away and she practically collapsed on the ground next to him. Their bodies would hate them in the morning. He looked down at one of the marks her teeth had left on his chest and chuckled. She gave him a tired smile as her body shivered in reaction to a chilly breeze. She didn’t need his permission to crawl close to him for warmth. He slung an arm around her back and she kissed him with the sleepy contentedness that follows a good fuck.

It was in moments like these that he felt the most affection for her: when they were both disarmed and dazed, forgetful and uncaring. Other witches had made him want to leave as soon as he’d gotten what he wanted. She made him want to stay. He had become dangerously used to staying. She was familiar without being boring, comforting without being stifling. Plus she was a first-class shag every time.

But as his lust was sated, the fog it had caused began to lift from his mind. His pulse was slowing, his skin was growing cold, and he could hear the alarm growing louder in the back of his head.

He loved being with her when she lost herself in sex. He was of the opinion that that was the only time when she was truly honest with herself about who she was and what she wanted. But she wasn’t an escapist by nature, and while he enjoyed being her escape from time to time, he knew that it never boded well. There were some things that a person couldn’t hide from for long.

“So,” Draco said in a carefully controlled tone as he removed a leaf from her curls, “are you going to tell me what all of that was about?”


	28. Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Hermione fidgeted in Draco’s arms. “What do you mean?”

Never one to pull a punch, Draco explained, “You haven’t jumped me like that since you were punishing yourself over Weasley.”

She was cold, and the last thing she wanted to do was leave what little warmth his body provided, but she pulled away from him. She bought herself time by gathering her rumpled clothing and putting it back on, piece by piece.

Draco watched her from the ground with an annoyed look on his face before he finally stood and began to pull his clothing back on as well. In hindsight, it would’ve been much better to have settled for a decent shag with an argument inside the warm castle rather than a fantastic shag with an argument outside in the cold.

Hermione tugged her cloak out from under Draco’s feet and wrapped it around herself. She saw Draco do the same with his, and thought that they would both look quite a mess if they were seen on their way back to their dormitories: dirt on their clothing, cuts and scratches on their skin, leaves and twigs in their hair. Hang on, Draco was combing through his hair with his fingers now. He’d just have the dirt and scratches to give him away.

Draco gave Hermione a determined stare. “Out with it.”

She hesitated and avoided his eyes. Hermione wasn’t quite sure why, but she was afraid. She had once been afraid of Draco Malfoy, but she had long overcome that. Yet she was edging herself back against a nearby tree, and as he advanced upon her she felt as if she were being cornered. She didn’t want to tell him. Why had she even come here? Why hadn’t she just left and never seen him again? It was so much worse to have slept with him again and now to have to face him before leaving.

“I—”

His eyes seemed sharp—painfully so.

“I have to leave.”

Her words were vague, but Draco discerned their meaning instantly. Part of him wasn’t surprised. Part of him had known from the beginning that this wasn’t far off. Part of him was still furious.

“When?”

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair distractedly. A twig fell out of a tangle.

“Soon.”

“Let me guess,” Draco said in his characteristic drawl. “To help Potter?”

She gritted her teeth in irritation as he leaned against the tree in a carefully crafted pose of nonchalance.

“I should think that much was obvious.”

Draco’s jaw worked before he spoke again. “So you’re at his beck and call?”

“No,” Hermione said defensively. “I want to go.”

“Why?” Draco’s eyes became sharp again as he looked at her. “So you can die for Potter?”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” Hermione said coldly. Part of her was glad that he was making her angry. It would be easier that way, she thought.

Draco shrugged. Indifference would affect her more than anger, he knew. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. “That’s just what seems to happen to everyone else who tries to protect him. Do you think you can break the cycle?”

Hermione felt a pang in the pit of her stomach. “I want to help. If I can do anything to help defeat Voldemort, I want to do it!”

“And what if you can’t defeat him?” he asked sharply.

Much to her surprise, Hermione was momentarily struck silent by the weight of that prospect. She had considered that possibility many times before, but the way Draco said it made it sound so much more likely to occur somehow. Did he know something she didn’t? Would he keep important information about Voldemort’s plans from her just to keep himself safe? The thought chilled her.

Still, she would not waver.

“…Then yes, I’ll die.”

Draco snorted derisively and chucked a pebble toward the lake.

“But at least I’ll die trying!” she continued, incensed at how he was making light of the sacrifice she was going to make. “It’s worth a try. Don’t you think it’s worth dying for?”

He turned, locked eyes with her, and raised an eyebrow. His lips formed the smirk that had twisted the features of a boy that had once amused himself by tormenting a Muggle-born girl. His next question was calculated to cut.

“Would you be dying to defeat the Dark Lord, or because Potter needs you?”

Hermione was taken aback. In her mind, the two had always been one. But Draco made it sound as if she were nothing more than a tool in Harry’s arsenal; as if she would blindly do whatever Harry asked, even if it led to her death.

She slid down the bark of the tree and slumped against it on the ground.

Draco laughed bitterly. “So this…” he gestured toward the red marks on his chest and neck that her teeth had made, “This was your way of saying goodbye?”

“Yes.” Hermione flushed in shame and fixed her eyes on the dirt beneath her feet. “No… I don’t know.”

“Oh?” His laughter was cruel. “Am I meant to wait for you to return triumphantly?”

Why did he still have the power to make her feel worthless, powerless? She looked at the dirt. Dirty blood. “You don’t think we stand a chance of beating him?”

“It doesn’t seem likely.”

He didn’t know why he was saying these things. He was hurting her. Maybe that was the point. She was hurting him, after all, wasn’t she? She choosing _them_ over him. She was going to go off and get herself killed and make herself another martyr in a long line of fools who’d thrown their lives away for Potter.

All she had wanted was for him to look the least bit sorry that she was leaving. To give her a word of encouragement or faith. She should have known better. Her throat ached, and she refused to speak if there was a chance he would know how close she was to crying.

Draco’s features slipped from mocking to cold, and his voice matched.

“I should’ve known you’d go with them in the end.”

Hermione struggled to clear her throat as she stood to face him.

“They’re my friends,” she practically pleaded for his understanding. “I have to help them.”

Draco felt the fury rise up within him. “And what am I?”

“I…” She tried to find something in his expression that betrayed a sign that what she answered would matter to him. “I don’t know.”

“Someone who fucks you?” he spat. “Not a friend?”

“Draco…” She couldn’t quite resist the urge to reach out to him, but he ignored her. “You know I care about you.”

“‘Care’?” His voice was acidic, harsh on his tongue. “That’s a bit vague.”

“I…” Hermione faltered. “I like you.”

“Charming,” he sneered. “I didn’t know that anyone was capable of that.”

His tone assaulted her like a physical blow. He had retreated behind the wall he had held between them for so long, and it hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

“Stop it!”

“Stop what?” he asked, though he knew very well what he was doing.

“You know what I mean!” she said in exasperation. Her face was flushed with emotion and there he stood, cold and hardly affected at all. He looked almost bored.

He shrugged in feigned obliviousness. “I just want to know where I stand.”

She stared at him. “Why do you even care?”

She was infuriating! How could she ask him that? Surely someone so intelligent shouldn’t need it spelled out for her!

“Call me sentimental, but I just don’t much like the idea of you getting killed.”

“Why—because then you couldn’t shag me anymore?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed in anger. She really was going to make him say it! “Don’t pretend that this is still that simple.”

There was anger in Hermione’s eyes as well when she looked at him. What was he playing at?

“Isn’t it for you?”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Is it for _you_?”

Fury and frustration threatened to overwhelm Hermione. It wasn’t fair for him to stand there toying with her when it was already so hard to leave. She wished that just once she had the power to hurt him as much as he hurt her. She didn’t care anymore. Nothing she said seemed to have any impact on him whatsoever.

“How _could_ it be?” she choked through the beginnings of tears. “I’m in love with you!”

Her hand flew over her mouth as soon as the words were out.

Draco had suspected it for some time, but it still made his mouth go dry to hear her admit it to him aloud. He had told himself many times that it didn’t matter to him how she felt. That what they had together had nothing to do with love, and that it was probably better that it didn’t. But every touch, even not long after they had begun seeing each other, had hinted at an affection he had hardly allowed himself to hope she could feel for him. Now that she was leaving, such a declaration only embittered him.

“There you go,” he said coldly. “Finally got it out.”

Hermione’s eyes burned and the first tears began to fall. She had told herself that she was stronger than this. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry in front of him again. Yet she had told him that she loved him, and he had dismissed it with hardly a thought.

“Yet you’re running off to be with other men,” he said lightly. “Women can be so fickle.”

Hermione’s anger flared again and she wiped the tears from her face furiously. “It’s not as if you’ll be waiting for me to come back,” she said bitterly. “As if we’ll get married and have halfblood children and everyone will applaud us!”

Draco stared at her in silence. He had never really considered what would happen if she were to stay, or if she were to leave and return. There had never been a serious thought about what would happen to them after Hogwarts, after the War. In a way, Draco had been certain that he wouldn’t live long enough to have to worry about that.

She continued in a scathing tone. “Let’s not entertain for a moment the idea that you’d be the least bit interested in anything of the sort.”

“Don’t presume you know what I’m interested in,” Draco said as every muscle tensed in outrage.

“Even if you did,” she said in a scathing tone, “ _and you don’t_ , it certainly won’t happen while Voldemort is gleefully murdering every Muggle-born witch and wizard in Britain!”

“You don’t know what I want!” Draco had not believed that she could infuriate him any further than she already had done, but he was being proven wrong with every sentence she uttered.

“It’s not that,” she said firmly.

“I want you,” he said in a last-ditch effort to make her understand. He even drew close to her to emphasize his point. “I’m sure you’ve worked that out by now.”

His hand moved to touch her cheek, but she batted it away. “That isn’t enough.”

He practically growled in anger and frustration. “What _is_ enough, then? What do you want from me, Granger?!”

“I…” There was a detailed list of everything she wanted from him. And really, when it came down to it, they were all really only a part of one thing. She looked away from him. “Nothing you can give.”

“Love?” He saw her start, ever so slightly, as he said the word he hadn’t spoken without a sneer since before he could remember. “Is that what you want?”

Something within her ached terribly, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“What if I loved you?” he asked as klaxons blared in his brain. “Would that make you change your mind?”

“Let’s not deal in hypotheticals.” Her voice was icier than she had intended.

He bared his teeth and moved away from her. “You can’t tell me that after _eight months_ you expect me to feel the same way I did in the beginning! You’re a great shag, Granger, but not great enough to keep me interested for that long.”

She shook her head, now numb to his anger. “I don’t know what I expect from you.”

Draco couldn’t believe it. He had said far more than she deserved to hear from him, and still she wouldn’t even consider the possibility of not running off to her death. He uttered a noise of disgust.

“We’re at war, Draco,” Hermione said quietly. “We have to be brave.”

“I’m _sick_ ,” he said in a tone that turned his own stomach, “of being brave.”

“Well, you won’t have to be!” she spat. “Stay here and pretend you haven’t picked a side and then, when this is all over, you can go home to your mother.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His voice was low and dangerous, but Hermione’s hurt and anger made her reckless. “Don’t I?”

“You’d better hope that Potter defeats the Dark Lord, Granger.” He fixed her with his most penetrating stare. She didn’t seem to understand the danger. They were all so certain that they would win, because they _had_ to win, but Draco knew firsthand what it was like to be on the wrong end of the Dark Lord’s wand. “Because if you get captured, there’s not a word I can say or a thing I can do that will keep them from destroying you. You’d better hope you win, because if you don’t we’re all worse than dead.”

A thrill of fear rushed through Hermione. He was warning her. Through the bitterness in his voice she discerned that there were things he had seen that might be beyond the shapeless nightmares that characterized her anxieties about the months ahead. But she was a Gryffindor, after all, and if she couldn’t face her fear for the sake of a larger cause, then who could?

“Then you should know better than anyone why I have to go.”

He laughed derisively. She didn’t know the half of it.

“Because of _this_ , Draco!” Hermione reached out and grabbed his left forearm. He cried out in pain. “ _This_ is why I have to go!”

Draco wrenched his arm away and rubbed the throbbing skin with his palm. It did nothing to relieve the sting, and he spoke to cut again, as much to distract himself from the pain as to get back at her.

“If it’s any indication of how strong He is now, you won’t stand a chance.”

She shook her head vehemently. She wasn’t going to let him evade her point. He, of all people, had to understand why she had to do this.

“It won’t stop until he’s gone,” she said gently. “We’re going to end it. Once and for all.”

“Or He’ll end you.” Draco threw up his hands in resignation. “Give my regards to my dear aunt when she’s cursing you into insanity like Longbottom’s mum and dad.”

“I’ll be sure to give her my best when you’re both rotting in Azkaban,” she countered.

“Oh, it must be lovely now the Dementors are gone,” he said with jovial sarcasm. “It’ll be like a long holiday!”

“I’m _so_ glad I decided to have this chat with you.” She turned to leave. She had had quite enough. Clearly it had been a mistake to try to reason with him. She would’ve been much better off leaving without telling him. This argument had helped nothing.

But his strangely calm voice from behind her made her halt in her tracks.

He said what he ever thought he’d need to in a last-ditch effort to make her understand how much his confessions cost him. He would never have gone this far just to torment her, and it infuriated him that she didn’t recognize that.

“I could go with you.”

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and turned to face him.

“Yes, I’m sure you, Harry, and Ron would become the best of friends.”

Draco shrugged. “Anything’s possible at this point.”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“Apparently that’s how people act when they’re in l—”

“Don’t say it,” she warned fiercely.

“Why not? It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Did his cruelty know no bounds? Why couldn’t he just let her go so she could have a good cry and move on with her life?

“You’re _not_ in love with me.”

The acid was back in Draco’s stomach. “Thanks for clearing that up for me.”

Hermione’s fists clenched tightly, then released. “I only have one more thing to say to you.”

His false smile was worse than any sneer. “I’m all ears.”

She took in every feature, wanting one last look before it was all over. But he made it easy for her: the boy in front of her was nothing like the one she had fallen in love with. The words slipped smoothly from her lips.

“Goodbye, Draco.”

She turned to leave again. And in true form, he had to have the last word.

“Do me a favor and invite me to the victory party before you hand me over to the Ministry, won’t you? It’d be nice to have a bit of chocolate gateau before they throw me in Azkaban with all the other Death Eaters and Muggle-haters.”

His tone spurred her flight enough that she managed to get out of earshot before the first sob escaped her.


	29. Dissolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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It was so unlike Hermione to have skived off lessons that when Ginny had heard as much in the Common Room she had immediately gone looking for her. She found her in the seventh-year girls’ dormitory sitting on her four-poster and sorting a stack of books. There was a small beaded bag next to her on the bed.

“I hear you’re leaving soon. Harry won’t let me go, of course,” Ginny said in a tone that was half-annoyed, half-affectionate.

A nod was Hermione’s only confirmation as she packed a few changes of clothing into the beaded bag.

Ginny sat down next to Hermione and put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Hermione stopped packing the bag, but did not look up at her friend when she spoke. “I’ve told Malfoy we’re going.”

Ginny’s eyebrows knitted in concern. “What did he say?”

“Nothing helpful, of course,” Hermione said bitterly. “I was stupid enough to tell him I loved him.”

Her hand gripped her friend’s shoulder as Ginny digested this news. She couldn’t imagine making such a confession to Draco Malfoy. It had taken her long enough to work up the nerve to say it to Harry, and she had had no fear that Harry wouldn’t reciprocate.

“What did he say?”

“He said that women are fickle,” Hermione replied with a snort of disgust. “And then he told me that going to Azkaban would be like going on holiday.”

Ginny sighed and looked away. What could she possibly say to console Hermione? She had always thought that this relationship was certain to end badly, but she also knew her friend well enough to know that Hermione was too loving a person not to be devastated.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked tentatively after a moment.

Hermione shook her head helplessly and looked around the room for anything else she might need to bring with them.

“I’m going to miss you,” Ginny said quietly, and Hermione looked up.

“Oh, Ginny, I’m going to miss you, too,” she said, and gave Ginny a tight hug.

When she pulled away from the hug, Ginny smiled at her friend and gripped her shoulder again. “Be safe.”

“We’ll try our best,” Hermione said with a sad smile. And before Ginny turned to leave, she was back to packing books and clothing into the beaded bag.

*****

A week later Ron and Hermione left Hogwarts with no certainty that they would ever return. They set out through the passage beneath the statue of the One-Eyed Witch and were out of Honeyduke’s before the owners awoke. Even Ron didn’t look twice at the sweets this time, and they apparated from Hogsmeade to the forest where the Quidditch World Cup had been held. They would meet up with Harry and go on together from there.

It was dawn when they arrived at the meeting place, and the grass was wet with dew. Hermione’s head was abuzz with the effort of imagining every possible danger that might lie ahead. Everything fell suddenly into focus, however, when Harry emerged from the trees.

Seeing him again was shockingly surreal. It had been a year since he’d left. How could it have been that long? His hair was messier than usual, and his clothing was stained with dirt that he hadn’t bothered to remove. He looked as if he had aged half a decade. It hadn’t dawned on her until that moment that he was no longer a boy. None of them were children anymore.

But his face lit up when he caught sight of them and he was the same old Harry again, her Harry, whom she had missed more terribly than she had realized. They ran to greet each other and Hermione reached Harry first. He wrapped her in a tight hug and she was crying before she even understood why. Her joy at seeing him again, her fear of what they faced, and the despair that she had been forcing down since she had seen Draco for the last time were rushing through her all at once and it was all she could to do keep standing.

Harry mumbled soothing words into her hair as her tears fell against his shirt. A moment later Ron caught up with them and embraced them both, one arm slung over Harry’s shoulder, the other around Hermione’s waist. It seemed years since they had all been together, and Hermione knew even as she cried so hard that it was difficult to breathe that everything would be all right as long as she had her two best friends.

*****

It was a miracle that Draco finished out the final month of school. The only reason he had stayed was because he had nowhere else to go. Apparently he had managed to learn enough before she’d left to get him through his end of term exams.

It was easy not to feel sadness or regret when one was so full of fear and rage. The nightmares continued relentlessly, and now there was no comforting bed to go to. There were times when he was at his most pathetic that he wondered if he could sneak into her empty room to see if he could get a better night’s sleep there. But he wouldn’t allow himself to sink that low.

He might’ve been more worried about her if he hadn’t been so worried about himself. She had Potter, Weasley, and the Order of the Phoenix to protect her. He had no one. He was too afraid to write to his mother, and too proud to write to his father. If they were still followers of the Dark Lord, and he was certain they were, then writing a letter would be as good as signing his own death warrant.

He finalized his plans before their exam results were in. He wouldn’t take the Hogwarts Express back to King’s Cross. If anyone wanted to find him, that would be the logical place to try. He’d go to Hogsmeade Station with the other students and then apparate with his trunk. He had money and he had the skills that had made him a Slytherin. He’d go into the Muggle world if he had to. He could leave the country if necessary. The Death Eaters would kill him if they found him, and the Order of the Phoenix wouldn’t protect him again after what had happened when his father had escaped from Azkaban.

He did not go to the end of term feast. He stayed in the dormitory and finished packing his things. He had been putting it off and was now the last of his housemates to pack. He finally opened his trunk and began sifting through the detritus that had accumulated during the year: dirty clothing, broken quills, spare parchment, and… a red and gold tie.

For a moment he had no idea how it had gotten there. Then it came back to him all at once. She had come to the Room of Requirement to be alone. She was crying. Weasley had told her he wanted her. Draco, in a bought of insanity, had tried his hand at selflessness and told her to go to him. She had seduced Draco. She wanted him to punish her for hurting her friend. But she had chosen him. She had chosen _him_ over  Weasley, and that fact had allowed him to become devoted to her in ways that he had never thought possible.

And in her state of emotional turmoil she had forgotten her tie.

He had meant to give it back to her. Now he never could. Just holding it made him furious. He stormed over to the fireplace and was a moment away from throwing it in before he changed his mind. The scrap of cloth was the closest thing he had to proof. Proof that he had been there first. She would go off and save wizardkind, and in the process she and Weasley would certainly reconcile. They’d get married and have a dozen children with bushy ginger hair and Draco would become nothing more than an unpleasant memory.

His only consolation would be knowing that she had given everything to him before she had even allowed Weasley to touch her. That he, Draco Malfoy, had been her first choice. And he’d have the tie to remind him of that. He wasn’t going to wait for her. He wasn’t going to pine after her. But he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of pretending that it had never happened.

*****

Narcissa Malfoy waited on Platform 9¾ until the very last student on the Hogwarts Express had left with his family. Then she waited an hour longer.

She sensed her husband’s presence before his gloved hand rested on her shoulder. She did not move. Her eyes stared blankly out at the empty space where the train had been.

“He’s not here.”

The pain in his wife’s voice pulled Lucius’ features into an involuntary flinch.

“Come home, darling,” he said in a gentle voice.

Narcissa shook her head, her eyes still firmly fixed on the steel tracks.

“We should get back,” he insisted more urgently.

Her eyes fell to the platform floor in front of her feet. “No.”

“Narcissa—”

She turned to face him and her eyes were angry. “You did this, Lucius.”

He was taken aback. “I—”

She continued without allowing him to interrupt. “You sent him away, and we may never see him again!”

Lucius reached out to stroke his wife’s cheek, but she batted his hand away in one swift motion.

He begged her to see reason. “Do you really think he would be safe if he were home now? It’s bad enough that I failed to retrieve the prophecy—that you took the protection of the Order of the Phoenix. What do you think the Dark Lord does to a Death Eater who refuses to answer his summons?”

“We might have explained—” Narcissa began weakly.

“We could say nothing now that would stay the Dark Lord’s hand if Draco were to fall into his grasp,” Lucius said firmly. “Be glad he hasn’t come home. He’s safer away from us now.”

Lucius reached out his hand again and Narcissa allowed him to press it against her cheek. The leather was smooth against her skin, but cold. She longed for the warmth of his skin, but she would not seek affection from him in public. She did not want to go back to a home where Death Eaters came and went as they pleased, and the Dark Lord watched over all and they were least favored among his followers.

“And if he’s with the Granger girl?” Narcissa asked tentatively as her husband’s hand fell. “What then?”

“Then we shall see him soon enough.”

Narcissa was chilled by the note of foreboding in her husband’s voice, but she nodded her understanding slowly. He held his arm out as if they were at a ball and he was her escort. She rested her hand on his forearm with the grace that age had only increased, and they apparated from the empty platform.

*****

Harry sat at the entrance to the tent and listened to the rain pattering on the canvas roof of their temporary home. It was his turn to keep watch. Every now and then he turned his head toward where his friends slept soundly on a nearby bunk. They had shared one of the small beds for nearly two weeks now. Every time he watched them sleep Ron’s arm was around Hermione’s waist, as if he were afraid that if he didn’t hold onto her he’d lose her.

Ron and Hermione’s newfound closeness made Harry miss Ginny even more terribly than he had when he was alone. He thought about what it would be like to have her there with them now, curled up sleeping in his bunk, keeping it warm until his watch was over. But at least he knew that she was safe. She had made it home without incident and was now protected by the Order of the Phoenix, at least for the summer. Who knew if Hogwarts would even be open come September?

He was happy for his friends, though. He was glad that they had each other. It had been a long time coming, and he had expected them to end up together. Ron and Hermione had gone through a lot while Harry had been gone. He had been worried that their friendship couldn’t survive it. Instead, it had eventually brought them back together. Harry hoped that that was for the best.

Someone stirred behind him and Harry looked over at the nearest bunk. Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him. Harry’s shift was over. Hermione carefully extricated herself from Ron’s embrace and stepped out of the bed. She shivered and pulled a nearby blanket around her, then picked up her wand and moved to sit next to Harry.

“Your turn to sleep,” she said quietly as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not tired yet,” Harry said honestly and looked at her. “Can I sit with you for a while?”

Hermione smiled a sleepy smile. “Of course.”

She sat with her arms crossed and resting on her knees and laid her head against his shoulder for support as she tried to shake off sleep. Harry slung his arm around her shoulders and they sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain.

“Are you all right?” Harry finally asked, because he didn’t know when he’d have another chance.

She didn’t answer immediately, but her hand fell between them and he covered it with his.

“I…” She cleared her throat audibly. “I miss him.”

Harry knew how much it must have cost her to admit that. She hadn’t mentioned Malfoy since Harry had revealed that he knew about their relationship in his letter. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

“I don’t know what’s happened to him,” she said with a hint of fear in her voice. “He made it sound as if he’d be killed if he went back to the Death Eaters.”

“Vol—You-Know-Who,” Harry corrected himself irritably, remembering that the name was now cursed, “doesn’t take kindly to deserters.”

Hermione made a pitiful sound against Harry’s shoulder and he quickly tried to reassure her. “He’ll be all right, Hermione. If there’s one thing Malfoy knows how to do well, it’s get himself out of a bind. I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Whatever it was, it’s over.” Her expression was one of resolve. “I’m—I’m with Ron now. I can’t ever see Dr—I can’t ever see him again.”

Harry was silent. He felt profoundly sad for his friend. It was clear to him now that she had cared for Malfoy far more than she would ever admit. But she was probably right: seeing him again could only hurt her now. There was no chance of reconciliation there. Now all they could hope for was that Hermione’s growing relationship with Ron would ease the pain of what she’d lost.

There was nothing more Harry could say. He gave Hermione’s shoulder a squeeze and stood. She smiled sadly up at him and then turned her gaze toward the night, her wand grasped firmly in her hand.

It wasn’t until Harry pulled the blankets up over himself that he discerned the soft sound of her crying, muffled by the falling rain.

*****

Draco shut his window against the sounds of an impromptu concert being held in the town square that the row of small flats bordered. The muffled chattering in country French could still be heard through the glass, but it was a slight improvement. He would have much rather resided in Paris, but he couldn’t be assured of his safety in a city where so many witches and wizards—many of whom would recognize the Malfoy heir on sight—resided.

He had contemplated living in a remote magical community that would be the French counterpart of Hogsmeade or Godrick’s Hollow, but thought better of it in the end. Even in the country he might be recognized. In the end he had decided that the only way to ensure that he would not be found was to go to a Muggle village in the countryside. And after a few months it wasn’t so bad. He found that he could get away with using simple spells within his flat. He was out of the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic, and the French ministry was fairly lenient about regulating magic in such remote parts of the country.

Draco had emptied his personal vault at Gringotts directly after apparating from the train so that his purchases couldn’t be tracked. His supply of gold, now long converted into francs, had lessened considerably, but he still had a few months before he would need to think about stomaching the prospect of seeing employment in a Muggle shop. In retrospect his decision to live in the country was wise in another way: it was much cheaper than living in Paris.

His flat was stone and chilly at night even in the spring. Draco pulled a jumper over his head—navy and white sailor-striped: the only pattern that seemed to be available in the country—and sat down at his café-sized dining table. The morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet lay next to an empty whiskey glass. It cost extra to get the Prophet delivered outside of the country, but it was a necessary expense. He needed to know what was happening at home. Even now the chill of fear sat in the pit of his stomach as he read until he was certain that the paper contained no news of her injury of death. He hated that he still cared enough to worry.

He hadn’t allowed himself to read the front-page article yet. He had been pacing through his flat all day with that sick feeling knotting his insides and the glass of whiskey in his hand. But now he couldn’t put it off any longer. He removed the cap from the half-empty bottle and filled the glass again. He took a generous sip before he let his eyes take in the words that had plagued him all day:

WAR ENDS: POTTER VICTORIOUS

Draco paused and took a deep breath before forcing himself to delve into the article.

_It was made known early this morning that You-Know-Who’s reign of terror has been ended at last, and that he has gone for good. Dozens were killed on both sides in the final battle that took place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry during the better part of last night._

_Those who witnessed Harry Potter face the most powerful dark wizard of our times reported that it was a sight to behold, and that it ended with a finality that left no doubt that You-Know-Who would not be able to return as he did after he was thought to be dead eighteen years ago. Potter himself assured the battle’s survivors of this fact before Ministry Aurors escorted him and the rest of the injured to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries just before dawn._

_The list of casualties has not been compiled yet, but our readers will be glad to know that Harry Potter’s school friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger—_

His heart lurched in his chest and hot relief rushed through him, augmented by the slow burn of the whiskey.

_—were among the survivors._ _“It could have been much worse,” Headmistress Minerva McGonagall told one of our reporters, “but we are saddened by every loss, and it will take time for the wizarding community to recover from this tragedy.”_

_The mediwitch in charge of Potter’s care has declined to make a statement on the status of his health so far other than to assure the public that he is certain to fully recover in time._

Draco didn’t need to finish the article. From there it looked as if it recapped the events of the war and speculated about the days to come. He had learned what he wanted to know. He set the paper back on the table. After draining his glass of whiskey, he sat down at his desk and picked up a quill.

 _Dear Mother_ , he began.

It was time to go home.


	30. Epilogue: Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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Five years passed after Hermione left Hogwarts before she saw Draco again. The war had been over for nearly four. Voldemort was dead, along with Bellatrix Lestrange and the majority of his other followers. Remus, Tonks, Fred, and too many others had been lost from their side. Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban again, but a good word from Harry and some inside information Lucius was able to provide had shortened his sentence considerably.

Harry and Ginny were married within six months of the end of the war, and Hermione and Ron had followed suit within another year. Mrs. Weasley had been right: war made you want to cling to the people you cared about, and make decisions far more quickly than you might during peacetime.

Hermione didn’t have to see Draco to know that he was all right. He was all over the Daily Prophet on a near-weekly basis. He had been spared a trip to Azkaban because he hadn’t been involved with the Death Eaters since he had come under the protection of the Order after Sixth Year, though the Ministry still monitored his correspondences by owl and floo. Every month the Prophet reported gossip about a new witch he was seeing, and a month later the news of their break-up would be headline news. He didn’t seem to be able to keep a woman around for more than three weeks.

She had resigned herself to never seeing him again except on the front page of the Prophet. She had resolved years ago that the past was better left just that. But the British wizarding community was a relatively small society, and it was inevitable that one autumn day Hermione literally ran into Draco in the middle of the lobby of the Ministry of Magic. She had just looked up to apologize when her eyes met a familiar gray that rendered her speechless.

He seemed to have that same moment of recognition and they both froze. He took just a moment to recover himself, and then he rolled his eyes and grabbed her wrist. Before Hermione had fully registered the long-forgotten feeling of his hand against her skin, he had pulled her to the nearest hearth and then there was green flame and she was stumbling out of another fireplace. He was absently brushing soot off his robes as she tried to figure out where they were.

It was a pub. Hermione felt as if she’d been there before, but not often. She searched her memory and decided that it was The Goblin’s Cache, a pub that was situated on a London street that housed at least half a dozen Muggle pubs. Of course, the Goblin’s Cache could only be seen by witches and wizards, but if one happened to stumble drunkenly into the street rather than leaving by floo, they would hardly be noticed.

By the time Hermione had looked around to see where Draco had gone he was at the bar ordering a glass of firewhisky. She sat at a nearby table and waited for him. When he finally sat down across from her he had predictably only gotten a drink for himself.

“The last time I saw you, you weren’t even old enough to drink yet,” she said conversationally.

“Well, I’ve gotten rather good at it since then.”

He stared at the whiskey between sips rather than at her. By the end of the first awkward silence he was halfway through his drink.

“So…” Hermione blundered on determinedly. “Do you work at the Ministry now?”

She was fairly certain that he didn’t. The Ministry of Magic was a large place, but it wasn’t so large that she would never run into him if he worked there. She’d been at the Ministry for two years and she’d never seen him there before.

“I don’t work.”

Of course. Family money. The Malfoys must be the equivalent of wizarding gentry, she suddenly realized. She’d just never thought about it before because the concept of not having employment was so far out of her experience. She gave up on trying to make conversation and went to the bar to get herself a glass of elf-made wine. When she returned, his whiskey glass was empty and he was staring awkwardly at table.

She took a sip of her wine in silence. Finally he looked up at her.

“Sorry about your divorce.”

Hermione snorted. “No you’re not.”

The edge of his mouth turned up slightly. “No, I’m really not.”

She rolled her eyes, though she was unable to contain her smile. “Thanks anyway.”

They fell back into silence, but it wasn’t quite as awkward this time. He began twirling his whisky glass in a way that made a very annoying sound. Hermione took another sip of wine and gathered her courage.

“I’ve heard all the rumors,” she said with her eyes fixed on the ruby-red liquid.

He seemed to stay silent just to spite her, so she continued.  
“The Prophet speculates that perhaps you’re horrible in bed, or that you like being with a different witch every week, or that maybe…” she paused for effect, “you’re not even interested in witches at all.”

She glanced up at him cautiously because she wanted to see his reaction to her words.

He bristled visibly but did not meet her eyes. “I bet Potter and Weasley got a laugh out of that one.”

Hermione did not answer him. She took a large sip of her wine and fixed her eyes on a knot in the wood of the table. “I wanted to tell them the truth.” She faltered. “Or at least… what I hoped was the truth.”

He stared at her and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Her heart was racing. Her hands were sweaty against the wine glass. Her mouth was dry. But the words were drawn out of her like spilled ink siphoned off parchment. She swallowed.

“Tell me that I know the truth.”

He stared at her for a long moment until she finally met his eyes. When she did, she felt trapped by them. Her heart was in her throat as she waited for him to speak.

“You want the reason to be you.”

Tearing her eyes away from his seemed to take physical strength. She settled them back on the knot in the table. Her answer to what wasn’t even a question sounded feeble as she gave it.

“I… I don’t know what I want.”

“Yes,” he sneered, “that always was your problem, wasn’t it?”

Something between her heart and her stomach twinged painfully and her eyes stung. No, she wouldn’t cry. Even though every feeling that she had forced down for the last half a decade was rushing to the surface all at once.

“Draco—”

He shivered visibly as she said his name. She realized to her surprise that she hadn’t said that name out loud since she had said goodbye to him years ago.

He recovered his composure. “You want to know the truth?”

She nodded weakly, afraid that if she spoke she might burst into tears.

He shrugged. “You know me, Granger. I always get what I want.” He seemed to struggle with himself before he continued. “And I didn’t stop wanting you before you’d stopped wanting me.”

Hermione didn’t understand what he meant. She wanted to interpret it a certain way, but that didn’t mean that that was what he was actually saying. She wouldn’t allow herself to hope that he would tell her what she longed to hear. She still couldn’t speak.

“There were others,” he continued as he focused on his empty glass. “But I’m sure you know that. The Prophet must have made a fortune reporting on my sex life. I’m flattered, really, that people find it so interesting.”

She ran a hand through her hair and felt her voice grow acidic before she even spoke. “You certainly gave them enough to report on.”

He ignored her barb and simply sighed. “None of them satisfied.”

Hermione suppressed the urge to laugh at his arrogance. He could have any woman in the world and that still wasn’t enough? He couldn’t find even one that could keep him interested? Of course he couldn’t, the spoiled git!

He shook his head as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“You ruined me, Granger.”

Hermione looked up at him, trying to figure out if he meant what she thought he meant. The look in his eyes was unfathomable but somehow she immediately understood.

“I…” her voice quavered, “I thought that it would be easy for you.”

He laughed bitterly as he took her glass from the table. He drained it and then looked at her again. “Yeah, you would think that.” His voice was scathing. “That’s the real tragedy of it. Draco Malfoy, the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world, can’t get over a worthless Mudblood!”

Hermione felt terrible and wonderful all at once. He had always had a knack for making insults sound like compliments, or perhaps it was the other way round. She was grateful when he seemed to expect no response and continued on without a sign of recognition from her.

“Whereas you were married before we’d been out of Hogwarts two years.”

He made it sound horrible. As if she had betrayed him. As if she hadn’t spent months in agony because she missed him so much. As if she hadn’t spared him a backward glance when she’d left Hogwarts. As if she hadn’t fooled herself into believing that she was still in love with Ron so that she could try to forget Draco in her friend’s arms. He had _no idea_ what she had been through.

“You’re wrong.”

He gritted his teeth, apparently annoyed. “About what?”

She met his eyes and dropped her guard in one fell swoop. It felt like throwing herself off a cliff: it was exhilarating and terrifying and certain to end in a bloody mess. She could barely hear her own voice over the rush of the proverbial wind against her ears.

“I never stopped wanting you.”

He stared at her in utter disbelief, and then his eyes turned angry. His voice was laced with fury when he spoke. “Then why—?” He couldn’t even finish his question. She knew what he was asking, though. Why had she left him if she still wanted him? Why had she married Ron? Why hadn’t she found him after the War? After her divorce?

“You _know_ why, Draco. I had to go with them. I had to help!” Her eyes dropped. It still hurt after all this time. It hurt even more now that he was here looking at her accusingly. She had to make him understand. It wasn’t fair for him to judge her like that, after all she had been through. Her pride meant nothing compared with this injustice. “And… and I knew that if I survived, you would’ve moved on long before I came back.”

“So you married Weasley?” He made a noise of disgust.

His tone stung, but she wasn’t going to let him bait her. What she had done had been the only thing she could have done, and it wasn’t fair of him to act as if she had done it to spite him. “Ron loved me! As far as I knew, you were incapable of that.”

“You _wanted_ me to be incapable,” he spat. “That made it easier for you.”

“There was nothing easy about it!” The barkeep was glancing at them warily when her voice rose, but Hermione assumed that he had seen much worse altercations in his establishment, and he soon went back to cleaning glasses.

Draco gave her a look of utmost loathing. She hadn’t seen that look since she was sixteen years old and he was tormenting her over her blood status.

“Do you think I enjoyed reading about your wedding in the Prophet? ‘Two of the Trio to wed,’ I believe was the headline. Did you know it sold almost as many copies as the issue that announced the Dark Lord’s death?”

Her anger rose and she could feel it in the pit of her stomach. “Do you think _I_ enjoyed reading about your conquests?” Her eyes burned. “It felt _wonderful_ to be just another shag in a long line of witches who were helpless against your charm.”

“You’ve never been helpless,” he said with a scoff.

Her voice was thick with the mixture of anger, frustration, hurt, and hope. “Am I the reason you’re not married to some pureblood heiress?”

Draco’s eyes were fixed on her, but he said nothing.

“Am I the reason?” she repeated more loudly, desperate to know either way. She was sick of wondering what might have been. She just wanted it to be over.

He continued to look at her in silence. She was about to give up and walk out and away from him and never look back.

But then something in his eyes changed.

She wanted so badly for it to be true. Why would he be acting this way if it weren’t true? Why would he be saying the things he was saying? Just to torment her?

“Why me?” she asked in a quiet voice that betrayed her fear of rejection.

“You made an impression.”

Her mind was racing and she reeled from the force of it. She had no idea what to think, what to say. Her eyes returned to the safety of the knot in the wood.

Neither of them spoke for a full minute, but he was the one who broke the silence.

“So was I the reason?”

She looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Am I the reason you and Weasley didn’t work out?”

She evaded his eyes and his question. “There were a lot of reasons.”

He leaned toward her slightly. “Was I one of them?”

Hermione sighed, not knowing how to answer. Of course he had been one of the reasons. Not the only one, but if she were honest with herself, the main one. She had been given a taste of passion, and Ron’s gentle affection hadn’t been enough for her after that. It was Draco’s fault that she couldn’t be content with the person she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with. All his fault. Poor Ron.

“What if you were?”

One of her hands was resting on the table. Both of his were playing with his empty whisky glass again. He set it down. His hand rested on the table near hers. If he extended his fingers they would touch the tips of hers. Her heartbeat quickened.

“Was I?”

She looked at him pointedly. If he didn’t understand, then it wasn’t meant to be. She would go home to her flat and move on.

He extended his fingers.

She allowed herself to remember everything. Every touch, every kiss, every dark corridor, the Room of Requirement, the way she had felt when she woke to find him in her bed. His eyes caught hers and she could see every memory in their unique shade of gray.

“I’ve decided something, Hermione.” Words echoed from the past as a boy of seventeen spoke through the mouth of the man of twenty-three: “And regardless of what recent events might indicate, when I really have my mind fixed on something, I don’t stop until I get what I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading if you got this far! I am posting this in 2014 (I looove the back-date feature) and looking back on the fic kind of makes me wince at how much different a writer I am now. There's a lot I would change about the fic if I were to do it today, but I'm extremely grateful for everyone who took the time to give me such great feedback while I was writing it and I'm touched that so many people have enjoyed it. I still get reviews from old postings even to this day, and I appreciate every one of them. Thanks again!


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